


About (Love/Hope/Fear/Hate)

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: All Three Degrees of Murder, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Comedy, Dead Parents, Drama, F/F, Family, Fluff, Forgiveness, Historical Innacuracies, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Magic, Matchmaking, May be rewritten, Political Intrigue, Rebellious Princesses, Romcom-esque Plots, The Plot Thickens, discontinued, except not really, i started playing dragon age between chapters 8 and 9 and the shift is noticable, the king took a page out of the Big Book of Thedas Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: How to Succeed in Gender Without Really Trying. Princess Emmeryn of Ylisse is being required to marry a man, despite repeatedly telling her father she's a lesbian and refusing every suitor he sends. To hopefully offset the possibility of another civil war between  headstrong princess Emmeryn and her father, the reigning King Lionel, Emmeryn's good friend and loyal knight Frederick arranges another suitor, a charming young minstrel named Phobos that has a history with Emmeryn. Despite it being technically illegal, King Lionel notices nothing, and the courtship goes as planned until Emmeryn's eighteenth birthday, when the king betrays his daughter by sending Phobos on a deadly errand and introducing a suitor of his choosing in Phobos's place. After Phobos's twin, Phila, crashes the party and Emmeryn disappears into thin air, it's up to Frederick, Phobos, and Phila to find Emmeryn before King Lionel's people do. But is that the last of their bumps in the road, and what does King Lionel's deceased wife, Florence, have to do with all of this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Princess's Suitors

**Author's Note:**

> Notes as of 7/25/16: SO let me be straight (haha) here i had no idea this would get so Big and i had no idea the plot would turn into what it is. whoops. well you have your gender comedy still it's just. underneath layers of politics and dickbag dads.

The image was a tired one, seen countless times in film, depicted in books, shown in paintings. There would be a princess, usually young and reasonably pretty, slouching sideways on a throne or poofy chair with her crown cock-eyed, face puffed in to a pout, cheek pillowed on a curled fist. She’d be glaring boredly or snobbily at the viewer, who would typically be led to believe she was being faced with a line of suitors of which none would be right.  
  
Truth in television, it seemed, because Emmeryn currently sympathized with that particular image and all variations thereupon on a damn near spiritual level.  
  
Now, she was nearly eighteen. That was a fine age to marry. On the older end for Ylissean tradition, actually, which meant that soon enough she’d run out of suitors willing to marry her and have to be referred to in history books from then on as the spinster queen at the ripe old age of twenty-five, who left the throne to her niece or nephew instead of firstborn child, as was traditional.  
  
The ridiculous prejudice about women being sovereign rulers in Ylisse had died out after several generations of queens proving they could do it better, and Emmeryn was content to crush what remained of it under her heel— but what irritated her more than she could say, what was making her pout in such an unladylike manner just then, and what was the reason she was turning away suitor after suitor who offered gifts more lavish than the last (she was sure they were all fine men and would make some _other_ girl very happy, of course, it wasn’t that she didn’t like them personally), was the fact that _they were going to make her marry a man._  
  
_But father, I don’t like men,_ she had said at fourteen when her father started sending for noble boys to woo his daughter. It had seemed obvious at the time. She didn’t like men, so why did she have to marry one? It just wasn’t fair. Of course her father denied that, she just “hadn’t met the right one” or something Emmeryn found equally stupid, but Emmeryn knew what she liked. She was the princess of Ylisse, what law out there said she couldn’t marry whoever she pleased?  
  
Emmeryn let out a loud sigh, nudging her crown back into place. “Frederick, are we done?” she complained, shifting herself on the chair in the parlor. The tea was cold, her posterior felt numb, and no one would let her eat the sugar cubes because it wasn’t ladylike. She was about to start chewing on her nails again if Frederick didn’t say she could finally go.  
  
“Not yet, milady,” he replied. “But there’s only one more. Shall I fetch another pot of tea?”  
 Only one more. That didn’t sound too bad. “That won’t be necessary. But if it’s another creaky old duke or feather-headed lord, I’m going to start screaming and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop!”  
  
“We wouldn’t want that,” Frederick agreed, standing with his hands tucked at parade rest behind his back. She wished he wouldn’t act like that sometimes— he was only a little bit older than her, after all, and even if he’d worked for the Ylisse royal family since the both of them were young and she was technically his superior, it didn’t feel right ordering him around. She personally thought of him as her friend— the closest thing to a real friend Emmeryn had ever had.  
  
“Why can’t I just marry you?” Emmeryn sighed, slumping over the armrest of her chair. “I don’t like men enough to marry them for love, but if I have to marry one, I can deal with you.”  
  
“Your praise honors me,” Frederick said, though Emmeryn detected a hint of sardonicism creeping its way into his voice. “The king has said, ‘my daughter must put these thoughts of women out of her head, she cannot rule a kingdom like that, with her coronation in less than a year.’ Apparently he thinks it’s some sort of lingering illness.”  
  
“I wish,” Emmeryn sighed. “I could get out of geography lessons by claiming I felt sapphic desires towards some of the Pegasus Knights. Does he really think marrying some lord will change me?”  
  
“I can only repeat what I have heard him say, milady,” Frederick said humbly. “Though, if I may be frank…”  
  
Frederick’s unfiltered thoughts were always entertaining, and to Emmeryn it made talking with him feel less like idle smalltalk between a royal and her attendant and more like a level conversation. “Go on,” she urged him, lifting her head to grin a little.  
  
“I do think it’s a bit obnoxious of him to diminish your thoughts like that,” he continued. “I cannot say I would be too eager about the prospect of marriage if I were being forced to, even if I _did_ want to marry someday.”  
  
“Yes, and it isn’t even that I don’t want to marry!” Emmeryn agreed. “I’ll marry one of these pointless and irrelevant suitors if it means he’ll stop sending for them! But I intend to keep sending them away until I find one I can stand a little bit.” The ever-so-convenient woman-in-disguise-trying-to-marry-the-queen did not cross her mind.  
  
“This seems like the way wars start,” Frederick noted dryly. “Father against daughter in bitter feuds over things like marriage, and the next thing anyone knows, the country is split in two.”  
  
“It won’t get that far,” Emmeryn decided, sitting back up in her chair and reaching for a sugar cube. “Because I’ll outlast him. I’ll marry a woman yet!”  
  
“If you say so,” Frederick said with a resigned sigh. He glanced out the doorway to the parlor, then cleared his throat. “Milady, the last suitor is here.”  
  
Emmeryn popped the sugar cube into her mouth with little regard for how unladylike it was. “Send him in, then. This shouldn’t take too long. I don’t anticipate wanting to marry this one, either.”  
  
Frederick bobbed his head and left to send in the final suitor, and Emmeryn took the opportunity to crunch her sugar cube in a very unladylike manner. She’d need a little bit of energy for this, even if it wasn’t going to last very long.  
  
Of course, Frederick stood by the parlor door after the last suitor of the day left, to make sure none of them were assassins or something (even though, logically, it wouldn’t make sense to take this as an opportunity to assassinate Emmeryn, since there were no windows and only one door in the parlor), but other than that, Emmeryn and the suitor were left alone to talk. Most of such talks had only lasted about five minutes (Frederick had been keeping time), and Emmeryn didn’t anticipate this one being any different.  
  
Her suitor didn’t look particularly special, that she noticed anyway. He had pale, silvery hair tied into a short, loose braid just beneath his left ear, though a color and style such as those weren’t eyebrow-raising, and the vibrant carmine red of his eyes was striking but not particularly unusual for the kingdom anyway. His features were strangely soft— he was probably an artisan, Emmeryn would wager, or a musician or something of the sort. Some of those types had come to see her too. Of course, they’d been turned away just as much as the nobles.  
  
“Good evening, milady,” the suitor greeted respectfully, bowing low before standing back up and tucking his hands behind his back like Frederick. His voice was strangely soft and lilting for a man’s voice, covered up with a huskiness that seemed compensation for how young it sounded. He clearly wasn’t much older than Emmeryn was. That was a good sign— a good deal of these suitors were at least her senior by five or more years.  
  
“Good evening,” Emmeryn said politely, standing to give a brief curtsy before sitting back down. It was just too close to suppertime to be too formal about these things. “What is your name, sir?”  
  
“Phi— Phobos, milady,” he stumbled, as if he’d had to rehearse stating his name. “Phobos of Enderwick.” Emmeryn had never heard of Enderwick. It must’ve been one of those many little towns Ylisse had scattered around the country. Surely no one expected her to _remember_ all those. She didn't notice the stutter, or if she did, she dismissed it as simply nerves.  
  
“Take a seat, please,” Emmeryn requested. Phobos of Enderwick obliged, hands folded on his lap and back straightened. He was only taller by an inch or so, including the added height the heel of Emmeryn's shoe added. Emmeryn had always been tall, but most men she’d met were taller than her by much more. Perhaps this one was just short.  
  
“So,” she said, folding her hands. “Why do you wish to court me?”  
  
“I’d assme the same as any man who has been in this seat, milady,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “Escaping an unwanted social class, or garnering power. Neither of those paint me in a very appealing light, though, do they?”  
  
Despite herself, Emmeryn chuckled. “I can’t say they do,” she agreed. “I’ve had to ask that question to every last suitor that’s come up to my door at my father’s request. You’re the twentieth today.”  
  
“Twenty in one day?” Phobos sounded surprised. “I hope you haven’t been sitting here the whole time.”  
  
“Oh, I never keep them for long,” Emmeryn said with a wave of her hand. “I dismiss them fairly soon after. Nonetheless, it feels like ages.”  
  
“I can imagine,” Phobos remarked. “Still, I do have to admit, being a king sounds nice.”  
  
“Well, you’d be a prince,” Emmeryn corrected. “Since the coronation is to be held before the wedding. The sovereign queen’s husband is always a prince, not a king.”  
  
“I stand corrected, then,” Phobos chuckled. “Prince is fine, then.”  
  
“‘Prince Phobos’ sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” Emmeryn remarked. “A very villainous name.”  
  
“I don’t think of myself as a very villainous character,” Phobos mused. “Though perhaps I hold hidden depths. You never know, after all.”  
  
“Indeed,” Emmeryn hummed, a smile resting gently on her face.  
  
And at that point, watching Princess Emmeryn and the young man Phobos interact in a way that had passed beyond polite smalltalk and seemed inching towards a pleasant conversation, Frederick had to allow himself to smile just a bit. A knowing little smile, the smile of a man whose plan was executing flawlessly— perhaps even better than expected.  
  
There was a scheme in place, actually, and Frederick had been part of it. Of course, if it failed, it’d fail horribly, but thus far, it was going perfectly. The fact that it’d only been in place for ten minutes was beside the point.  
  
The conversation went on for much longer than five minutes. Emmeryn had forgotten about supper in talking to Phobos, and for all she cared, supper could wait. The topic of conversation had turned to books and then to talk of family members and then of Emmeryn asking eagerly about Phobos’s friends and his life and his town and the stories he had about them, because the way he spoke was so interesting it made her want to listen to him all day.  
  
She wouldn’t mind marrying this man, she thought. But if he did actually grow to love her, would he accept the fact that she never would?  
  
Eventually it had been two hours and Frederick’s knees were stiff. He cleared his throat a bit loudly, which was a bit rude but suppertime had long since passed and more than likely it was dark outside.  
  
“Milord, milady,” he said. “I hate to intrude, but I think it’s time to cut your conversation short.”  
  
“Oh, Frederick!” Emmeryn pouted. “He was just getting to the good part!”  
 “Well, all that happened afterwards was I fell into the pond, but I suppose it’s somewhat amusing,” Phobos chuckled sheepishly. “Though your knight is correct there.”  
  
Emmeryn sighed. “Well… I suppose. Do you think you can come back sometime? Or that we can write?”  
  
Frederick saw Phobos’s eyes light up, and he knew they’d succeeded. “Of course!” Phobos agreed wholeheartedly. “Enderwick isn’t far from Ylisstol, I could take you out for a visit sometime. I’ll send my messenger bird as soon as I can so we can write.”  
  
“That would be wonderful,” Emmeryn said with an earnest smile.  
  
Phobos chuckled, just a tiny bit, and reached his hand forward before hesitating. “May I…?”  
  
“Oh,” Emmeryn noticed, like she’d forgotten something only mildly important to social cues. She held her hand out for Phobos to take, and he gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. Frederick noticed the color that rose to Emmeryn’s face just then, the corners of her lips curled up pleasantly. She was smiling, happy to have met someone she liked, but he could tell she was conflicted. Phobos seemed like he was absolutely elated to be given the opportunity to court her— he’d be crushed when she told him she could never truly love him romantically, how was she going to tell him? Was she willing to sacrifice a friendship for that?  
  
Of course, Frederick knew the whole story, and if all went well, there wouldn’t have to be any sacrifice.  
  
“Would you like me to escort you to your chambers, milady?” Frederick offered. “You missed supper, but it’s been kept warm for you.”  
  
“I knew I was forgetting something,” Emmeryn mumbled. “I’ll be along soon. I know the way through the castle.”  
  
“As you wish,” Frederick said. “Come then, milord. I shall escort you back to the gates.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Phobos said politely. He and Frederick locked eyes, and Frederick noticed with satisfaction the excitement glinting in them. It was an elation that wasn’t expressed until the parlor door was closed and they were safely out of earshot, at which point it was expressed with Phobos jumping up excitedly and throwing his arms around Frederick’s neck.  
  
“I didn’t think it’d work!” he said, eyes wide. “I kept saying to myself, this had better be worth chopping off all my hair, but it worked!”  
  
“I’ll admit I had my doubts as well,” Frederick mumbled. “But your acting was incredible, I must say. I doubt the king will suspect anything at all.”  
  
Phobos sighed. “And that’s the real test, isn’t it?” he said, scratching idly above his ear. “Should I have drawn on facial hair, just in case?”  
  
“We tried that, you couldn’t fool the shopkeeper,” Frederick scowled. “But you have to keep the persona up now. People will suspect something if you act feminine around everyone but the royal family.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Freddy-bear,” Phobos said with a grin that made his cheeks squish up happily. (Frederick hated that nickname.) “I’ll be as masculine as anyone! And to think, it’s all because no one bothered to ask if I was a man or not.”  
  
“We’ll hope no one does,” Frederick agreed. “Now go. I’ve lingered long enough.”  
  
Phobos, though whether or not that was his real name was up for debate now, nodded and put his floppy leather cap back on. It was time for him to go, for then, but thus far, the plan looked to be going well. All they had to do was keep it that way.


	2. Pegasus Feathers

Much to Emmeryn’s chagrin, it was three weeks before Phobos managed to visit in person again. Of course, the close proximity of Enderwick to Ylisstol allowed them to exchange letters often over that time. Of course it wasn’t a terribly long time, but Emmeryn felt like she missed him.  
  
_But not in that way,_ she had insisted to Frederick, which he understood. Emmeryn still thought Phobos was, well, Phobos, and he was glad she seemed to like him so much. Everyone needed a friend, and if that friend happened to be a potential suitor, well, what was so bad about that? Phobos wasn’t restricted by status, either, like Frederick was. He was encouraged to speak freely with her, to talk with her as he would a friend from his village. And Emmeryn seemed happier for it, too, so Frederick was glad about that.  
  
Frederick had not expected Phobos to show up again by soaring over the castle gates on a pegasus, doing a loop in midair, and landing in front of the ugly fountain in the castle courtyard where Emmeryn happened to be, sitting with her siblings and trying to teach Lissa how to make a braid.  
  
He had to admit it was a nice entrance, even if he could tell half the guards were running after him.  
  
Emmeryn seemed gobsmacked. “Phobos!” she said with delight, standing and immediately running to the man dismounting a pegasus in the middle of the garden. “What on— you didn’t tell me you’d be _flying_ in!”  
  
Phobos shook some leaves out of his wind-mussed hair. “Some things are best left as surprises!” he laughed, bowing deeply to Emmeryn and sweeping his cap off his head. There was an enormous grin on his face, wind-chapped cheeks dimpling merrily. That was less characteristic of Phobos and more characteristic of the friend Frederick was presently helping, but he supposed the best personas had elements of truth in them.  
  
“The guards will be after you now,” Emmeryn scolded lightly, her hands on her hips. “You know how they are, they’re very dedicated and I’m sure they think you’re some kind of very unsubtle assassin!”  
  
“Is unsubtle a word?” Frederick heard prince Chrom mumble, a question that went unanswered.  
  
The youngest princess Lissa, however, did a much better job of making her reaction known. While Chrom just frowned deeply at the fact that some minstrel on a pegasus had interrupted his showing off his newly-learned sword forms to his older sister, Lissa had widened her eyes to the size of saucers and bounced underneath Emmeryn’s arm to latch onto her gown.

 “Are you a princess?” she whispered. To Lissa, being a princess was the highest of honors. Frederick had earned that title when he was one of the few who allowed her to place a mangled flower crown she’d made with her best friend upon his head. Chrom had earned it by virtue of it annoying him. Of course it meant nothing, with her being a little girl still, but it caught Phobos off-guard.  
  
“Am I a what?” he said, looking down at the little princess clinging to Emmeryn’s skirt.  
  
“A princess,” she repeated. “Like a prince, but without the beard.”  
  
To his credit, Phobos reacted well. He crouched down to Lissa’s level and gave her a little smile, and said, “Well, for you, I wager I can be,” and then lightly tapped her on the nose.  
  
Lissa giggled in delight, scrunching up her face childishly and grinning at Phobos in newfound adoration as he stood back up to take Emmeryn’s hand and place a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Frederick merely watched— that was his job, after all.  
  
(Emmeryn wished he _were_ a princess, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so guilty about liking him so much.)  
  
But nonetheless, he asked permission to sit and talk with her and she accepted, and she and Phobos sat together on the edge of the fountain with their hands resting close to each other on the marble— nearly close enough to be resting on top of each other like shy adolescent lovers would so they could be holding hands, but not really.  
  
“You still haven’t taken me to visit Enderwick,” she chided gently. “With your pegasus, I can imagine the trip wouldn’t take very long.”  
  
“It wouldn’t,” he agreed. “Three or so hours on horseback, cut down to one on the back of my pegasus. But imagine what your father would say, if I just spirited you away to visit a little merchant town with nary a thought!”  
  
“He would have your head,” Emmeryn laughed quietly, thinking about how furious the king would be. “I’m tempted to do it now, just because we’d be back before supper and no one would be the wiser. It isn’t like he can do anything about it anyway.”  
  
“He can banish me from the kingdom,” Phobos hummed. “Throw me in the dungeons. Put you in a tower, like in the tales.”  
  
“I choose to believe he wouldn’t, just because he’d have done it long ago if he had the desire,” Emmeryn said stubbornly. “Just because he’s willfully ignorant of who I choose to love doesn’t mean he’s willing to imprison me in my own castle— the one I’ll get after my coronation, anyway!”  
  
“A very sound way of thinking,” Phobos said appreciatively. “You’ll be a fine queen, if I may say so.”  
  
Emmeryn blushed a little despite herself. “That’s very kind of you.”  
  
“I mean it,” he insisted. His hand inched a little closer. “Forgive me if it’s too forward, but—“  
  
Whatever Phobos was about to say, Prince Chrom didn’t seem to want him to say it. His training sword hand landed with a solid _thunk_ between paving stones on the courtyard path two feet away from where Phobos and Emmeryn sat, Chrom’s hand on its hilt.  
  
“Emm, you said you’d watch my sword forms!” Chrom huffed, sticking his prepubescent chest out in an attempt to attain dominance.  
  
While Emmeryn tried to figure out a way to tell Chrom to go play somewhere else without sounding like the worst older sister ever, Phobos had another idea.  
  
“So you’re studying the sword, then?” he said, standing up and folding his arms over the leather breastplate on his chest. “I see we’re both students of combat, then.”  
  
“What’d _you_ know about combat?” Chrom scoffed. “You’re a musician, right? I saw your harp. Musicians don’t do combat.”  
  
“Unless, of course, we do,” Phobos retorted, slinging a short, iron-tipped lance off his back and planting it firmly on the ground. “Now, good sir, what say you to a bit of practice?”  
  
“I say yeah!” Chrom agreed wholeheartedly, prying his dull-bladed practice sword out of the ground. “So long as you remember, I’m a lord, so fighting is in my blood. I won’t go easy on you!”  
  
“Of course,” Phobos chuckled, gloved hands firmly on the shaft of his lance. “But I assure you, I won’t pull blows for you, either.”  
  
“Don’t kill him too much,” Emmeryn called. “And I’m not kissing the winner!”  
  
Emmeryn folded her arms, watching as the play-fight began. She had to admit that Phobos was very good with how he allowed Chrom to his sword forms slowly and neatly, saying each move aloud, though that allowed Phobos to counter each move. Sword-to-lance combat was a bit different from sword-to-sword combat, but Chrom seemed to be able to keep up.  
  
And Phobos was very light on his feet, like he belonged in the air. Every movement had a sort of grace to it most soldiers didn’t have, something that was almost elegant. He clearly wasn’t an average soldier, even if he knew combat forms. More than likely to Emmeryn, he’d just taken lessons from a more experienced soldier for self-defense, like many did in times of strife. Though Phobos moved so lithely, it would be easy to take him for simply a different kind of soldier.  
  
Different kind of soldier or no, the fight ended when Phobos bopped Chrom in the chest with the base of his spear shaft, sending the young prince stumbling back to land on the ground. 

Phobos crouched in front of him, hand on his spear. “Does this mean I win?”  
  
“Not fair,” Chrom grumbled, rubbing at a smudge of dirt on his face with his forearm. “You fight like a girl.” He didn’t mean it as an insult, of course— the only girl he’d ever seen fight was Emmeryn, and she had well established willingness to blow people out the window with magic if they sufficiently annoyed her. Not that he’d be able to articulate that, of course.  
  
“Perhaps I do,” Phobos said with a shrug, offering a hand to help the boy up. “Though you fought well, milord. I was close to losing.”  
  
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Chrom muttered, reluctantly taking the hand and pulling himself to a standing position. (That may have been true but Phobos was not about to admit that.)  
  
“Nonetheless, it was a good fight,” Phobos decided. “Perhaps when you learn more, you can try sparring with me again. We can see where your skills lie.”  
  
“I’ll beat you next time, for sure!” Chrom said with determination. “And I’ll be good enough to even beat Frederick soon! Just see if I don’t!”  
  
“I look forward to seeing that,” Phobos chuckled. He looked back at Emmeryn, giving a little wave, and Emm waved back with a wry little smile on her face.  
  
Phobos was charming— there was no other word for it. He was charming as he left Chrom to boast about the play-by-play of his spar to Frederick, charming as he sat down (charmingly) next to Emm once more, charming as his hand returned to mere fractions of an inch away from hers on the marble fountain.  
  
“I must say, sir Phobos,” she said, pushing a strand of hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. “I’ve never seen anyone fight with a lance so gracefully.”  
  
“I learned from my… sister,” he said, with a bit of hesitance that Emmeryn noted but didn’t call. “She’s fairly handy with the lance as well, though the style is better suited to the air.”  
  
“Your sister is one of the Pegasus Riders?” Emmeryn asked, frowning. She’d never seen anyone that looked like him in the Riders. She’d have noticed.  
  
“Well, not anymore,” he replied. “She studied for it, and did very well, but circumstances changed and she was unable to join permanently.”  
  
Drats. So much for meeting her. “That is unfortunate,” she said. “But you fight very beautifully. I’m sure she would be proud.”  
  
“Well, I should hope,” Phobos chuckled. His hand was so close, Emmeryn found herself wanting to sneak hers into his grasp— but she didn’t, and the very thought alarmed her. Why was she thinking that?  
  
“Chrom and Lissa will be going back inside soon, for afternoon lessons,” Emmeryn murmured, head closer to Phobos’s ear so as to not be heard by her siblings. “Will you stay?”  
  
“I certainly hope so,” he murmured in reply. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“You promised you’d take me for a ride in your letters,” she brought up. “Now, admittedly, I thought you meant a horse, and I also admit I’ve never been fond of heights, but…”  
  
“But… the prospect is too exciting to resist?” Phobos guessed. “I understand. And if you are alright with it, I’m willing to comply. Of course I wouldn’t keep you out for terribly long.”  
  
“No one will notice I’m gone, anyway, so long as we’re back before supper,” Emmeryn agreed.  
  
“I hope you’ll find it enjoyable,” Phobos said, a little smile lighting up his face. Emmeryn felt the strange urge to touch his cheek, trace his soft jaw with her fingertips, but she didn’t act on it. What would he think then? Aside from his kisses to her hand, they’d never touched. Yet now they were so close, it made Emmeryn feel confused. And yet, the prospect was so wonderful, she wondered if it was even her that was thinking these things. She didn’t like men, but… did she happen to like this one?  
  
Maybe her father had been right. Maybe she _hadn’t_ met the right man yet, and she was just meeting him now. The feeling made her stomach clench, and her fists along with it. Her father _couldn’t_ be right, she’d felt the way she had for as long as she could remember! Admitting she may like Phobos now would be admitting defeat.  
  
_She was only marrying him so her father would stop sending suitors._ Yes, that was it. Perhaps it was the air that was getting to her, or the sunlight. She couldn’t like Phobos, at least not in that way. If she were to marry him, it was to make her father stop with the constant suitors, and because she liked the way he moved his hands when he spoke and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, and the little way he crossed his ankles when he sat with one foot planted on the ground and the other hooked around the first. She liked that he got along well with Chrom and Lissa and moved with all the grace of a dancer to music no one else could hear and the way his silvery hair lit up like starlight in the sun, and the way he smiled when he complimented her and the way she could feel him smiling through the way the strokes of his pen showed up on parchment in letters. She liked sending each letter with anticipation and she liked opening his knowing his words would be unfiltered and true. She was marrying him because she liked being around him and if she had to marry someone, well, maybe marrying him wouldn’t be too bad.  
  
“I should see them in,” she blurted, standing all of a sudden. “I’m sorry. I should… I’ll be back soon.”  
  
Her cheeks were burning as she took Lissa by the hand and led her in towards the castle. Clearly she needed to get out of the sun for a while. What on Earth was she thinking?


	3. The King of Ylisse

Phobos smelled like fresh hay and spring water and lavender.  
  
Ememryn knew this because her face had pressed itself to the back of his neck, her arms around his waist and clinging for dear life despite the fact that Phobos’s pegasus flew very smoothly and gently. (She couldn’t tell, but Phobos’s face was as beet-red from it.)  
  
He landed his mount gently back in the castle garden, among the slightly-waving grass. The sun was beginning its descent, shadows starting to lengthen and turn violet. They’d expect Emmeryn in for supper soon— it was a good thing they’d come back from the ride when they did.  
  
Phobos got off first, and offered his hand to help her down— which she took, feeling a bit queasy.  
  
“That was… exciting,” she managed, holding onto his hand for support. “I’ve never ridden on a pegasus before.”  
  
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked, eyes alight in hope that she had, and Emmeryn felt a little guilty about that.  
  
“It isn’t that I didn’t,” she began. “I just… need a while, for my stomach to recover. I’ve never really liked heights.”  
  
Phobos chuckled. “Forgive me, then, milady. I’d imagine a pegasus ride wouldn’t be very much fun with a fear of heights. Perhaps next time I visit, we can do something else?”  
  
_Next time._ The thought made Emmeryn’s ears heat up. “Yes, perhaps,” she agreed, humming pleasantly. Phobos squeezed her hand a little, the heel of his boot digging into the ground idly. They were still holding hands, but Emmeryn didn’t want to pull away.  
  
She could feel soft skin beneath her palms. His fingers were long and slender, and calloused at the tips from playing an instrument— lute, maybe. That seemed to fit him. Though his palms were tough, they were soft. Clearly this was a man who took care of his hands.  
  
“It seems to be the time I have to leave,” Phobos said, taking her other hand in his and smiling at her. She was just an inch taller than he was, but it was odd to be looking down at a suitor instead of up.  
  
“Must you?” she found herself saying. “At least be sure to write!”  
  
“I wouldn’t forget for the world,” he said with a charming little smile, because everything about him was charming and he refused to stop it. It was almost angering.  
  
Emmeryn sighed. “Alright, if you insist. When can you come visit again?”  
  
“As soon as I’m able, I’ll write you,” he promised, taking one of her hands and kissing it. His lips left a staticy feeling on the back of her left hand, like she’d been struck by lightning but only in that area. Funnily enough, whenever Emmeryn asked anyone what kissing was like, that was what they said. Maybe there was some sort of magic involved in it. ‘True love’s kiss’ wasn’t complete fairytale bullshit after all! Though Emmeryn wasn’t quite sure if that was a good revelation or a bad one.  
  
Phobos was going to be theatrical about his goodbye, it seemed. He pulled back, only holding one hand, and swept off his cap in a grand gesture.  
  
“We must part now, milady,” he announced, in a voice that made her giggle, just a little. “Alas, I was hoping to spend more time with you myself! But a princess has her engagements, and Allegra gets awfully annoyed with me if I forget to brush her before she gets tired.” He patted the neck of his pegasus, who nickered.  
  
“We can’t have that,” Emmeryn agreed. “Promise to visit again soon?”  
  
“I promise,” he said decidedly, mounting his pegasus in a swift movement. She felt cool evening air over her hand where his had been, and watched as he walked a few steps to a more open area— no matter how much everyone hated that fountain, it wouldn’t be very good if it was broken by an errant wing.  
  
“Wait,” she said, picking up her skirt so she could run the few yards between them. “Phobos, wait.”  
  
He turned, now on a higher level than she was, and looked at her with confusion. “Milady?”  
  
Her voice was rushed and her cheeks were pink. “I want to give you something,” she said. “Before you go. Lean down.”  
  
He did, and Emmeryn put her hand on his shoulder and stood on her toes, placing her pink lips to his cheek gently, in a chaste (or not) kiss. Phobos turned the color of the poppies in the fields outside the castle.  
  
“Farewell, Phobos,” she murmured, and he nodded a reply, his tongue seemingly too stunned to say anything. He took off then, a gust of wind making her skirt and hair billow out behind her until it faded away, and she was brushing strands of blonde back behind her ears and smoothing out the wrinkles.  
  
She sighed. What if she really did like him?  
  
She’d go back inside for supper soon enough, but for the moment all she could do was sit on the edge of the fountain and watch the white fur and feathers of Phobos’s pegasus glisten in moonlight, growing smaller and smaller until he was gone, just a speck of dust in the twilight’s sprinkling of stars. The ugly fountain babbled away behind her, and she didn’t have it in her to really care.  
  
“I should expect to see you inside,” said a gruff and all-too-familiar voice, accompanied by aging, heavy footsteps.  
  
“Father,” she said unenthusiastically, glancing over at the old king sitting creakily on the fountain an agreed distance away. “Did you want something?”  
  
“That man, the one on the pegasus,” he said, pointing a finger in the direction Phobos had been. “Is that the suitor you’ve decided on?”  
  
Emmeryn bit back a scathing remark. “Maybe,” she said instead. “I’m giving it time.” Maybe if she waited long enough, the king wouldn’t be around to see the wedding.  
  
“Wait any longer, and I’ll be dead before you marry,” he huffed. “Still, I suppose I think it… encouraging, that you’ve put your childish desires behind you. I had a feeling it was a fleeting stage of adolescent rebellion.” Emmeryn calmed herself from lashing out by thinking about how easy it would be to set that long beard on fire with a flick of her fingers.  
  
“When I’m queen, you won’t be able to tell me who I can and cannot love,” she said cooly. “Nor will you be able to tell anyone else, either, because I’ll be able to say you’re wrong.”  
  
“You still plan on attending every wedding between two women in the kingdom?” the king creaked with insincere laughter.  
  
“Yes, and I should thank you not to tell me where I can and cannot go!” Emmeryn said hotly. She really could light him on fire. It’d be easy and no one would be the wiser if an errant gust of wind shoved him into the fountain. She mentally slapped herself on the wrist for that. No, Emmeryn, those were wicked thoughts. Patricide would prevent her from getting the throne.  
  
“You are a bright spirit, my daughter,” he sighed. “I simply cannot keep up. I miss the times we used to spend together.”  
  
There he was with the reminiscing. Emmeryn fought the urge to roll her eyes and snap. “Perhaps we would be able to talk more amicably if you hadn’t meddled with my last real relationship. Or, perhaps, suggested disowning Lissa because you suspected her illegitimate?”  
  
She’d struck a nerve and she knew it. The king’s face contorted into a frown obscured by blue and cobalt facial beard. “I wish you wouldn’t bring up things like that. Perhaps I _was_ wrong, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep mentioning it.”  
  
“You were only wrong because I proved she had magic blood,” Emmeryn persisted. “Magic blood that comes from _your_ side of the family, I might add. I will bring up as many events as I please, _father,_ and you cannot stop me.”  
  
Tension hung heavily in the air, and Emmeryn, for one, refused to be the one to dispel it. She had that thought of setting her father aflame again, which she again dismissed as something that wasn’t necessary and was actually fairly detrimental to her becoming queen.  
  
“I see that I cannot,” the king sighed. “I am getting old, my daughter. I merely wish to know the kingdom is in good hands before I pass.”  
  
The way his bushy eyebrows hung low over his eyes and the way his voice dropped made it clear he was expecting Emmeryn to reassure him, tell him she’d do what he said. Emmeryn knew those tricks and when he was still bringing them out to her now, as a fully grown woman who was going to be coronated as queen within the year, made it very difficult to restrain herself from blasting him with the force of a volcano.  
  
“With luck,” she said with great restraint. “It will be. I intend to do what is _right_ for this country.” Emmeryn permitted herself a self-satisfied little smirk to that. _Your move, your majesty._  
  
The king let out a haggard sigh. “I can see when there is no stopping you. But do you intend to take that man, Phobos of Enderwick, for your betrothed?”  
  
Emmeryn refused to look at him. “Even if I did, why is it your concern? Do you suspect he’s some duchess in disguise, trying to sully your pure eldest daughter with sapphic desires?”  
  
He frowned deeply. Of course he wouldn’t say yes, but he couldn’t exactly say no, either. The king of Ylisse had quite a lot of practice with words in various situations, and dealing with Emmeryn as she got older became increasingly difficult for those words to manage. She had learned he did this, of course, so it wasn’t often they worked on her.  
  
“I wish to meet with him,” he decided, in a way that was more an order than a request. “Write him. Tell him two weeks. Then we shall see if you really should marry him or not.”  
  
Emmeryn thought that was entirely unfair, and flew to her feet in disgust. “Father!”  
  
“I have made myself clear,” he said, standing with his hands on his cane. “You shall do it, correct?”   
Emmeryn grit her teeth. “Perhaps I shall,” she ground out. Perhaps she’d also just elope with Phobos and leave Ylisse to Chrom or whatever regents they found in the Council to take over until her younger brother was old enough to do it on his own.  
  
The king nodded once in approval, and Emmeryn clenched her fists. “I’m going to my chambers,” she said with a curt exhale through her nose. “Goodnight, _your majesty._ “  
  
She didn’t stick around to see his response, nor did she get her supper from the dining hall. She marched up the stairs and into her chambers, and resisted the urge to smash something, or scream at Frederick when he asked if she was having a bad night. She knew marrying Phobos while her father was around was admitting defeat, but straight-up murdering the king was wrong, and angry as she was at him, she didn’t really have the mettle to kill him for it.  
  
Perhaps if she came up with something sufficiently crazy, she’d be able to prove her father wrong.


	4. Mana

Two weeks.  
  
Two weeks, Emmeryn had said in the letter, and if it was a direct request from the king himself, (delivered with a sigh he could almost hear through her letter), Phobos figured he’d better not ignore it.  
  
“He doesn’t think I’m masculine enough,” Phobos realized aloud in the two hours before his planned arrival, planting his hands on the table beneath his looking glass. “That’s it! He thinks I’m some duchess in disguise trying to steal away his daughter! Right, Frederick?”  
  
“Under most circumstances I would say you’re wrong, but…” Frederick grimaced. “Emmeryn tells me he all but confirmed it.”  
  
“I knew we should’ve gone with the beard,” Phobos mumbled, examining his soft jawline. Frederick knew Phobos well by this point, and it was clear he was starting to doubt himself, and this plan they’d cooked up. Normally Frederick was the voice of doubt, but if it was to work, someone had to blithely keep an open mind, and it appeared Frederick had to be that someone.  
  
_Oh, come now, Frederick, where’s your matchmaker’s spirit?_ he chided himself. _Those people think up even madder schemes to get people together and they’re still in business. You can’t lose hope in your plan now._  
  
“Don’t worry,” he insisted. “True, the king may be a bit…”  
  
“Judgemental?” Phobos suggested, braiding his silvery hair into a loose plait. “Obnoxious? Resembling an ass?”  
  
“Conservative,” Frederick decided, lacking the stones to criticize his king even if he _was_ somewhat of an ass. “But I’m certain he’ll approve of you with Emmeryn’s persuasion.” Meaning, she’d stare him down and possibly bring out blackmail material until she won, and later Frederick would have to set up a stack of logs on the roof for her to burn so she didn’t inadvertently set anything aflame with bottled-up anger. Emotional health was very important if you happened to posess magical talent.  
  
“Assuming she even likes me,” Phobos sighed. “She seemed… I don’t know, hesitant. Is it because the pegasus ride was too forward? And should I have sent her those violets with my last letter?”  
  
“She loved the ride, and the flowers,” Frederick promised. “She keeps them in a vase on her dressing table. It’s because she thinks you’re a man.”  
  
“So if the king thinks I’m too feminine, he won’t let me marry Emmeryn,” Phobos began. “And if Emmeryn thinks I’m too masculine, she won’t want to marry me. Frederick, something about that sounds problematic.”  
  
“Emmeryn doesn’t think you’re too masculine, she thinks you’re a man,” Frederick corrected. “That’s something different.”  
  
“I’ve noticed that even though you came here to advise me, you aren’t giving much in the way of actual advice,” Phobos mumbled, a twinge annoyed as he adjusted his collar. “You can make yourself useful by helping me with the breastplate, though.”  
  
Frederick helped him tie the leather breastplate on. “You somehow don’t seem receptive,” he replied.  
  
Phobos sighed, picking up his cap and twisting it in his hands. “I just don’t know what to do. It seems hopeless. Either Emmeryn won’t want to marry me or the king won’t _let_ me marry her.”  
  
“I cannot help you with the first option,” Frederick admitted. “But no doubt Emmeryn will object if the king decides not to allow you to continue courting her. Even if she does not want to marry you, she’d hate it if she weren’t even permitted to _see_ you. Emmeryn hates being told what to do, in general.”  
  
“I really hope you’re right,” Phobos muttered. “For both your sake and mine. If the king finds out, we’ll probably get loaded into a catapult and flung out of the country. I heard it happened to a friend of mine’s third cousin’s nephew.”  
  
Frederick rolled his eyes. “We aren’t going to get flung out of the country. Now you should get going—“  
  
“I mustn’t miss my engagement with the king, after all,” Phobos cut him off, in an impression of his voice that made Frederick frown grumpily.  
  
“Yes, well,” he huffed. “Do try to go in through the front this time. The guards will be waiting for you there.”  
  
“Understood,” Phobos nodded, adjusting the harp and the lance on his back. “How do I look?”  
  
Frederick paused, then pulled a pegasus feather out of Phobos’s braid. “What is the flower there for?” He tapped the violet sticking out of Phobos’s top buttonhole.  
  
“I think it makes me look dashing,” he explained. “That sort of rugged yet thoughtful charm. You understand?”  
  
“I cannot pretend to,” Frederick said dryly. “Now go! I will meet you afterwards.”  
  
“Don’t work too hard, Freddy-bear,” Phobos commented with a grin as he walked out the door and hopped on his pegasus. Frederick watched him leave, and hope nothing would go horribly awry while he wasn’t there.  
  
Nothing went horribly awry while he wasn’t there.  
  
It was kind of surprising for the subject matter, actually. It was almost boring that, an hour and a half later, Phobos was standing in front of the doors to the king’s study with his cap in his hand and a violet sticking out of the top buttonhole of his shirt. Frederick had yet to arrive, so two stiff-looking guards stood beside Phobos as he waited for the king to wave the doors open.  
  
“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it,” Phobos idly remarked, twisting his cap and hoping he wasn’t sweating. His voice sounded fine— though he’d always had a voice in lower registers and the huskiness of it made it sound more even. Predictably, the guards did not respond.  
  
He was almost relieved when the doors to the study swung open on silent hinges because it meant his time to brood or make comments to the guards— whom he was pretty sure were automatons anyway— was over, and there was a far lower chance of him embarrassing himself horribly before them. Of course, embarrassing himself in front of the king was a whole other manner.  
  
Phobos wasn’t sure what he expected from the study. Grand marble floors, an immense table with the finest of maps in the center, bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes lining the walls. A globe near the desk, a telescope in the window. Whatever a scholarly king needed.  
  
Of course, the king of Ylisse wasn’t a particularly scholarly man, so his study more befitted a war srategist’s. The books were volumes on military history, the map was of an old battlefield long since won, the fireplace was flanked by suits of armor bearing weapons that had fought in the old wars. But it did have quite a nice window seat.  
  
That was where Emmeryn was, her arms and legs crossed as she looked moodily out the window until Phobos’s quiet footsteps alerted her to his presence. She looked up, and waved a little wave to him, and he was about to wave back before the king cleared his throat.  
  
“Your majesty,” Phobos said, kneeling in front of the king with his head bowed. To his credit, his voice didn’t waver, and he did the bow in the way any self-respecting knight would.  
  
“Phobos of Enderwick, is it?” the king humphed. “Rise.”  
  
Phobos rose, and anxiously twisted his cap in his hands. Even though the king had his back turned, examining the coat of arms on the green banners upon the wall, Phobos felt like the king’s eyes were staring right through him— noticing every flaw in his persona that he’d bothered to put up for this purpose. With Emmeryn it was easier— it’d been hard at first, keeping it believable, but being so silly and dramatic felt natural with her. It was easy to hide behind the name to an extent, but by this point he wasn’t sure what was Phobos and what was the person behind.  
  
“My daughter seems to like you,” the king observed, a hand on the rapier at his side. “Indeed, you are the first suitor I have summoned that she has tolerated for more than ten minutes.”  
  
“I am still here, you know,” Emmeryn said hotly. “Father, I believe this is my discussion to be had as well?”  
  
“Your time will come, my daughter,” the king said with a gust of breath past his moustache, in the way that made Emmeryn reflexively take it as an order instead of merely an observation, and go back to staring at the knotty clouds out the glass panes. The king turned his head to look at Phobos, who then remembered he was expected to respond.  
  
He swallowed. “That is correct, sire, and I her.” It was best to make the fact that the appreciation was mutual, even if the king didn’t particularly care.  
  
“If you come swooping down on a pegasus and spiriting her away for joyrides, I should hope so,” the king pointed out. Emmeryn cringed a little. Damn, he’d caught on.  
  
“We do talk quite often, and have been corresponding for over a month now,” Phobos brought up. “I find her a… a very dear friend, if I may say so.” Heat rose to his face. Very dear, indeed, and the king had caught on to that. He lowered his brow, observing Phobos, who was doing his best not to fumble.  
  
“Why a pegasus?” the king asked, finally turning to face Phobos fully. Under the gaze of the king, an aged, very tall and broad man that had served at the forefront of countless battles, Phobos felt especially short and especially like someone who wasn’t a man disguised as one. He felt uneasily like the king was asking that because it was typically only women that rode pegasi, as far as most people knew, though it wasn’t exceedingly rare for men to befriend them too. Though using that as an explicit defense would just make him more suspicious that Phobos wasn’t the gender he seemed to be presenting (which was complete and utter wyvern shit in most similar circumstances but that wasn’t the point).  
  
“Why not?” Phobos forced a laugh. “Enderwick is three hours away on horseback, and it’s much easier to get to places with a flying mount. Surely you understand, sire?”  
  
The king let out a low, creaky hum. “Then why not use a griffon?” he proposed. “Or a wyvern. They are noble mounts, befitting a gentleman such as yourself, I am sure.”  
 “Ah, perhaps that is true,” Phobos’s humble laugh came more easily this time. “Thank you sire. But griffons and wyverns don’t live this far south. I suppose I could travel to Valm or Ferox and befriend one, but would it be happy in such a mild climate as Ylisse posesses? I would have to say no to that. Pegasi are accustomed to such temperatures, and thus I get the best performance out of my mount as possible.”  
  
If the way Emmeryn was looking at him was any indication, that was some very clever bullshitting he’d just done. His humble smile ticked upwards into a little grin, and he swept out his arms in a broad gesture.  
  
“So you see, sire,” he concluded. “To ride a pegasus is a logical choice— and also, an ethical one.”  
  
The king’s brow hung low over his eyes, and Emmeryn looked to Phobos with an impressed sparkle in her blue eyes— blue eyes that looked all the more vibrant next to the afternoon sky. He could stare into those eyes forever, but now wasn’t the time.  
  
“Be that as it may,” the king finally creaked. “I have my doubts about you, Phobos of Enderwick. You would not deny that riding a pegasus is widely seen as very feminine, would you not?”  
  
Phobos felt like he’d been kicked in the throat, but he forced himself to swallow. “I do not see that as a problem, sire,” he managed. “There is nothing wrong with being a woman, in my mind. I admire the pegasus riders, in fact. It takes strength to manage a flying mount.”  
  
The king huffed out a sigh, pacing heavily across his study to rest his hands on the fine wood of the table. “You are not doing much to ease my doubts, sir— if I should, indeed, call you that.”  
  
The look the king gave him made Phobos’s knees feel like gelatine. He almost let his composure slip, but he steeled himself and was about to respond when Emmeryn got to her feet.  
  
“Father, that is enough!” she commanded, firelight reflecting along her pale hair like it was about to catch flame itself. Her eyes had hardened to that of diamonds as she regarded her father, who had turned to face her when she stood. In that moment, Phobos felt the urge to bow before her, instead of the reigning king. She exuded power and authority, like she was channeling the exact man her father was in the past, when he commanded his armies. Phobos could see it in the old man’s eyes— he knew what she was doing, but refused to crumble to it.  
  
“I don’t know why you refuse to let me love who I love,” she began. “I don’t pretend to understand your reasoning, nor do I ever intend to! I have always loved women, and I will always love women, but if you are to make me marry a man, any man at all, then I want that man to be Phobos, and you do not have the right to take that away from me like you took away my chance to marry someone I really would love!”  
  
Phobos felt his heart sink at that— but he knew it was because she wholeheartedly believed he was a man. Even if she only saw him as a friend with which she’d undergo a marriage of necessity, that was enough for him. As long as she was happy, what else really mattered?  
  
The king scowled. “One day, you will see that youthful spirit is not the way to run a kingdom. Spirit is not how you win a war! These beliefs of yours… you will see one day how mine are the pillars upon which a country can stand. Yours are the sand into which weak countries crumble.”  
  
“Father, I will never be like you,” Emmeryn retorted. “I may be your daughter— that is a fact I will not deny. But I will not allow myself to retract the feelings I have now! I will break ground that you have not, without fear of failiure, because that is the role of the young!”*  
  
As Emmeryn stared at her father, the king stared back and Phobos could feel the tension thick enough to taste. It was an ugly taste that clung to his throat and refused to leave his nostrils, and made him wish more than anything that Frederick was there, so he wouldn’t have to be the lone witness in what could very well end up as a case of royal family murder. He supposed he should feel grateful that Emmeryn was defending him— more because Emmeryn didn’t like being told what to do than because she actually liked him, he’d guess.  
  
“Even if you ban Phobos from the castle, or from the country, I will still be friends with him,” Emmeryn said with her head held high. Her eyes looked like mountain ice— beautiful, but dangerous to the point that if you got any closer, they wouldn’t hesitate to crush you. With the fireplace light dancing orange and yellow over the shadows in her hair, she looked two steps away from turning into a divine being made of magic and passion. It was the face-off between a powerful, experienced army general unpeered in the ways of the sword and a sorceress filled with controlled, quiet anger and a determination to get what she wanted.  
  
“I will communicate with whoever I please!” she said, her voice rising in volume. “And you, father, will not stop me! I may not be queen yet, I may still be your daughter, but I am a grown woman and heir to the throne of Ylisse, and I will do as I see fit for myself!”  
  
Phobos could swear he heard the rumble of thunder, the crackle of flame, the low whine of wind. The elements felt like they were rallying behind Emmeryn’s witheld rage, behind clenched hands that trembled as they struggled to keep from lashing out. Emmeryn was strong, he realized, to keep all of that contained. He’d seen beginning mages and healers burn themselves out trying to keep their powers in check— powers that demanded to be used, to be acknowledged, to be felt. He’d seen them blow up houses, shoot pillars of light into the air, set everything around them aflame. It took discipline to use magic, and once someone who could was as used to it as they were breathing, it took much to push them until mana boiled like magma in their veins. These people were not to be trifled with. Princess Emmeryn, thus, was very much not to be trifled with.  
  
The king finally sighed, exhaling heavily through his nose. “You will do as you see fit,” he said, though his voice was cold as he regarded Emmeryn with his eyes— blue eyes, just like hers, but older. Eyes that had seen the horrors of both war and court. “You will, but one day, you will see how that turns out.”  
  
“Father, I—“ Emmeryn began, as if she’d been about to unleash an incantation that would blast him to ash, but he didn’t let her finish.  
  
“Marry Phobos,” he interrupted, tucking his hands behind his back and turning away. “Marry him if you are so set on doing so. You will do so regardless of what I say. But, my daughter, remember when I say that some men are not all they seem to be.”  
  
Phobos wished he hadn’t left it like that. The king left through the study doors that swung open on perfectly-balanced hinges, and shut as quietly as a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Author's note: I paraphrased the quote "The role of the young is to break new ground without fear of failiure" from 'Barakamon' for Emmeryn's purposes, shhh


	5. Fingers of Light

The tension left the room like a cloud disappearing after it had rained itself out.  
  
Phobos took a breath, setting a hand on his heart. That had been stressful. But Emmeryn unclenched her hands and lowered her head, and slumped to sit back down in the window seat. She looked so tired, which Phobos didn’t blame her for.  
  
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she murmured. Phobos sat on the cushioned seat next to her, and wished he could hold her hand for reassurance she looked like she needed. “My father is an ass sometimes. And… I’m sorry. About everything, really.”  
  
“What is there to be sorry for?” Phobos said with a shrug. “You have passion. You have beliefs you are determined to uphold.”  
  
“Not that,” Emmeryn mumbled. “About… not being able to love you because I don’t like men. I wanted to tell you that somewhere when I was calmer, but… I suppose that’s out of the question now.”  
  
Phobos paused, and nodded. “Yes, I… I understand.”  
  
“If you want to leave, I’ll understand,” she said, looking over to him. “Not many would still persist in courting me after they know I won’t truly love them.”  
  
“Well… milady,” he said, his voice taking on a firmer quality. “Talking with you the past month or so has been incredible, and I appreciate it more than I could say. Your friendship is a gift that I intend to treasure. It is… an honor to be your companion, even if… even if you cannot love me. And… you do enjoy my company too?”  
  
“Of course I do!” Emmeryn sounded surprised that he’d even say such a thing. “Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“And, I have to say, it has been fun courting you in such manners,” Phobos admitted. “With you, I feel a bit of silliness is appropriate. It feels right to be theatrical, be animated. And though I may wish to act in such a way all the time, with anyone else I don’t feel I can be. And… well. And through this, I’ve come to love you. But I know you cannot help who you love.”  
  
“It has been fun watching you, as well,” she admitted in response. “It feels like something out of a fairy tale, to be sent flowers and called milady and be kissed on the hand. It’s a lovely feeling, even if it isn’t anything romantic I’ll ever feel for you. You’re charming, Phobos. Charming in every way. In fact, if you were a woman, I…”  
  
She didn’t have to say it. Phobos bit his lip. He could tell her now— tell her now, agree to keep up the charade in front of her father until coronation, and be done with a whole lot of trouble. He wouldn’t have to keep hiding who he really was, but… maybe he was just afraid she wouldn’t accept him, like he’d been lying to her this whole time.  
  
“Indeed,” he murmured agreement. “If I were a woman, though, I wouldn’t be able to talk with you as I am now.”  
  
“You are fairly feminine,” she remarked idly, reaching out to touch his cheek with fingertips that tingled with magic. “For a man, anyway. Your skin is so soft and clear.”  
  
_Milady, you have no idea._ “I have always had fairly delicate features,” he admitted. He wanted to take her hand and hold it there, feel her heartbeat pulsing with magic through her veins, hold it like it was the last time he’d ever see her and kiss it like he could impart what he felt for her into it— passion, joy, even sorrow. Maybe if he kissed hard enough, he wouldn’t have to tell her the truth with words.  
  
They stayed silent for a long time, the crackling of the fireplace the only noise, until Emmeryn’s fingers fell away and he was left with a buzzing ache. Why did he have to keep lying to her? Why couldn’t he just tell the truth?”  
  
“I’m sorry, milady,” he murmured. “I—“  
  
“Phobos,” she said all of a sudden, sitting upright. “You could pass for a woman, couldn’t you?”  
  
“I suppose I could,” he admitted. “But milady, I have—“  
  
“I have an idea!” she said joyfully, an expression of clever inspiration written across her face. “And if you’re on board with it, I’m sure it’ll work.”  
  
“What idea might this be?” Phobos asked, an eyebrow arcing in interest.  
  
Emmeryn’s hands began to move. “What we do is this,” she began to explain excitedly. “On the day of my coronation, there’s going to be a big party to celebrate. Since it’s the day I become queen, I’ll have the final say in what happens. So I will make the announcement that we’re getting married, and then we reveal that you’ve been a woman disguised as a man this whole time! Of course, you’ll still be a man, so you’ll be a man disguised as a woman disguised as a man, which is a bit of a thing to think about, but it means I’ll have proven my father wrong after all!”  
  
Phobos wanted to sigh, take her by the shoulders, and explain everything, but he couldn’t do that. Her hands were shaking in a way that didn’t seem to be within her control, and the gleam in her eye was dangerously sharp.  
  
“I’ll do it,” he agreed. “But… milady.”  
  
“Is something the matter?” she asked, frowning.  
  
He took her shaking hands in his own, feeling the magic flow vibrant and lively just beneath her skin, quickening her pulse with every second she spent thinking of her father— how good it would feel to prove him wrong once and for all, how _right._ How she’d been thinking of doing something similar for so long, and now with the chance to do so, her emotions were running ahead.  
  
“You mustn’t let your anger get the best of you,” he murmured. “It’s dangerous. I’ve seen it happen.”  
  
“I’m not angry,” she tried to say, but he knew that wasn’t true.  
  
“It’s alright to feel things,” he said. “That’s what magic is about, isn’t it? But if they run ahead too much, it’ll destroy you. It happens too often.”  
  
Emmeryn was about to protest, but she realized he was right, and let out a breath with her whole body. Her joy faded, replaced with a tired burn like stamped-upon but still alive coals of a campfire, and she suddenly seemed much older than the spirited princess there had been a second ago.  
  
“I just…” she sighed. “I want him to leave me alone. I want him to leave Chrom and Lissa alone. I want to live my life in all the ways everyone says I can’t. And it’s angering when everyone keeps saying that I have to do this and that, behave one way and avoid the other, smile wider, but don’t grin.”  
  
He put a hand on her cheek. They made no excuses for being close now— there was no point. She allowed her eyes to close as her pulse slowed, yet it still thrummed with anger she had kept for so long. Phobos wished he could give catharsis, but he could only do the next best thing.  
  
As Emmeryn leaned her head on the wall, her eyes tired, Phobos pulled his small harp off his back. He liked music, had a talent for it, though he’d never really done much with that talent besides serenading his petunias from time to time. Phobos wasn’t really quite sure what he wanted to do, but he liked the way his life was. That had to be worth something.  
  
He plucked a few strings experimentally, the sound quiet and muted in the carpeted study, and tightened one where it needed to be tightened. Then he flexed his fingers and began to play.  
  
Later on he’d say something about just playing what sounded right, which wasn’t far from the truth. It wasn’t exactly any specific piece, more different melodies mashed together, but what he played ended up as a sweet yet subdued little tune that felt like flower petals scattered on paving stones and the brush of lips across soft skin, and clear, quiet summer evenings. In his head he could hear a whole symphony playing with him, but to the outside observer it was just stringing together memorized tunes into something coherent.  
  
Phobos, when he played, often got himself pulled into a sort of trance, where all that existed was the music flowing through his head and nothing else mattered. Every note felt as easy as breathing, every movement as natural as waving hello to a friend. And it was only when the piece was over and the trance was broken that he realized his feet were asleep or there was a small crowd gathered outside his fence, or he’d stumbled into a pile of hay without realizing it.  
  
This time, when the music faded in a decrescendo where it felt only natural to put it, Phobos found Emmeryn with her head on his shoulder and her eyes closed, not like she was asleep but like she was trying to exist in her own trance with Phobos’s song.  
  
“Why did you stop?” she asked, looking back up at him.  
  
“The song ended,” he said dumbly. “I mean… all songs have to, or else musicians would be a very tired people.”  
  
“That’s unfortunate,” Emmeryn frowned. “I’ve been reckless, haven’t I?”  
  
“Milady?” Phobos wasn’t quite sure he’d heard right.  
  
Emmeryn sighed, lifting her head. Her anger had died down, like the calm after the storm, and her brilliant blue eyes were calm, though troubled. “I shouldn’t have shouted at father like that. He’s right, in a way— I won’t do anything for this country if my only plan is to keep my spirits up and hope for the best.”  
  
Phobos had to do a double take. “I don’t think that means you have to be exactly like him, though, either,” he brought up. “You’re not him, after all, and you never will be, which I will freely admit is a relief. I would much rather be friends with you.”  
  
“You’re sweet to say so,” Emmeryn said, cracking a smile. “Perhaps I’ll figure that out someday. The type of queen I’m going to be, anyway.”  
  
“You’ll be an incredible one,” Phobos decided. “I would be proud to call you my queen.”  
  
“Well, that _is_ the plan,” Emmeryn admitted. “But then you’ll be a prince. If we _are_ still getting married, I mean.”  
  
“If you’ll have me, I’d be more than happy to marry you,” Phobos chuckled, setting his harp on his lap.  
  
Emmeryn hummed pleasantly, leaning her head back on his shoulder. “Could you play something else?” she asked. “I haven’t felt this calm in ages.”  
  
Seeing no reason not to, Phobos picked up the harp once more. “As you wish, milady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical ad-libbing is fucking hard Phobos is just dismissing his own mad skills


	6. Queen of Darkness

Weeks that passed exchanging letters turned to months, after awhile, and with every letter sent, the time until Emmeryn’s coronation grew shorter. It was scheduled for the summer after Emmeryn’s eighteenth birthday, and by the end of autumn, spirits were running as high for her coronation as they were for her birthday. There was a buzz going through the people of Ylisse— would Emmeryn be a better ruler than the old warmongering king her father had been, or would she follow in his footsteps?  
  
Emmeryn spent weeks preparing, writing out the fine details of her plans for once she claimed the throne. It was rare there was a soveriegn queen over Ylisse, and the people expected her to be as good as the kings— no, they expected her to be _better._ She had to be better than her father, and her grandfather, and her great-grandfather, and so on. To be taken seriously as a ruler, she had to be the best ruler Ylisse had ever seen.  
  
It was sort of a lot of pressure.  
  
Frederick, for one, was worried about her. Something told him that dragging tree trunks up to the roof for her to burn wouldn’t help much. She’d start thinking about how that could be applied to her future rule, and they’d be back where they started.  
  
“If you stay holed up in here, you’ll miss your birthday party,” he said matter-of-factly, as he opened the heavy curtains to the castle library. It was only a week before the date, after all. Guests were going to start arriving soon.  
  
Emmeryn squinted against the winter sunlight, hunched over at a cluttered writing desk she’d only left to eat and sleep. “Oh, what’s a birthday party anymore,” she muttered. “I’m not allowed to have fun, I’m a grown woman. Let the council throw a party for the sake of throwing a party, but don’t expect _me_ to attend.”  
  
“I would tell them this, but it isn’t my place to do so,” Frederick replied, raising an eyebrow. “When was the last time you went outside?”  
  
“It’s too cold to go outside,” Emmeryn muttered, pushing a stray lock of hair back into place. Her dishevled appearance was very unladylike, especially for a future queen, but at that moment Emmeryn thought being ladylike could go suck an egg. “And might I note, it also isn’t your place to bother me when I want to be left alone. Isn’t that in your contract?”  
  
“Sub-heading fourteen B,” Frederick confirmed. “However, sub-heading fourteen C states that if I have reasonable suspicion your health is in jeopardy, I have the right to make you aware of this. Subsequently, sub-heading fourteen D makes the addition that if something important is happening, I am required as your retainer to let you know about it.”  
  
Emmeryn scowled at him. She’d forgotten Frederick was the only person in the world besides her that read contracts and conditions so thoroughly. She supposed she’d have to relent on this one— which she hated doing.  
  
“So does this fall under fourteen C or D?” Emmeryn asked wryly.  
  
“Both, but D moreso,” Frederick said without a hint of sarcasm. “Guests are starting to arrive. I thought you may want to know about it.”  
  
“Hooray, my birthday will once again be full of old nobles and snobby aristocrats telling me how much I’ve grown,” Emmeryn muttered, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Oh, I’m offended,” a third voice said out of the blue, making Emmeryn snap upright to see where it’d come from. Frederick scowled back at the speaker, as he’d _said_ to wait until Emmeryn was standing up, but he supposed there was only so long he could keep the queen of Plegia waiting.  
  
“Really, you’d think you’d remember that _I_ come to your birthday parties, too,” her Majesty said with a lift of her shoulders, beneath shimmering black silk— the finest in Plegia. Lady Aversa and Emmeryn had been friends for quite some time, though Aversa had become queen by marriage and Emmeryn would inherit the position, and Aversa was two years her senior. She was tall and dark and had ways of getting what she wanted, be it with the way she moved her hips or the black talons at her fingertips or the small armory’s worth of knives hidden on her person at any given time. She was the type of noble to have blackmail on anyone at any given party (including her husband), except for Frederick because he did his best not to do anything blackmail-worthy. (He was so _boring,_ in Aversa’s words, an adjective Frederick wore with pride.)  
  
“Aversa!” Emmeryn said happily, a smile lighting up her face. Really, they couldn’t have been more different, and Frederick would never understand how they got along so well, but if Aversa got Emmeryn to leave the room for once, he wasn’t going to question it.  
  
Aversa scooped Emmeryn into a hug, and Frederick felt the sense that he wasn’t supposed to be there. And yet, he was duty-bound to protect Emmeryn and her siblings, so he was stuck.  
  
“You’re early,” Emmeryn said breathlessly, though the expression on her face was a far cry from the bored one it’d been not a minute before. “I didn’t think anyone would start arriving this quickly.”  
  
“I may have suggested it to Ganny that we make the trip a bit early,” Aversa said with a little shrug, leaning on the edge of the cluttered writing desk and running a nail down the finish. “Honestly, Plegia is an absolute /nightmare/ in the winter. Dry cold is just awful for the pores.”  
  
“I can believe that,” Emmeryn admitted, gathering her papers and stacking them up. Aversa caught one and looked over it with only mild interest.  
  
“What’s this?” she asked. “Political plans? I never took you for the type to need such things. You could just smile and the Council would give you whatever you wanted. What good are political strategies to a queen?”  
 The Queen of Plegia lifted her shoulders nonchalantly, sliding the parchment back to Emmeryn, who tucked it carefully with its fellows, letting out a sigh. “Soveriegnty is something different,” she explained. “I have to make the big decisions, you don’t. Only knowing about them is one thing, but having to actually _do_ something with them? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a setup to try and get me to quit while I’m ahead and cede inheritence to Chrom. Those old farts on the Council would _love_ that.”  
  
“Those old farts?” Aversa questioned, breaking into a laugh that, to Frederick, sounded like cold wind and shattering glass. A sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but an undoubtedly happy sound nonetheless. He’d heard what Aversa sounded like when she was planning something and that was not it. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that!”  
  
“Well— well, it’s true!” Emmeryn huffed. “They _are_ old farts, and they’re still listening to father even though I’m going to be the one in charge in six months. So clearly I have to be the best queen Ylisse has ever had, or they won’t take me seriously!”  
  
Aversa hummed thoughtfully. “And this isn’t even mentioning all that messy business you Ylisseans have with suitors and things?”  
  
“Don’t get me started,” Emmeryn groaned, not giving a rat’s ass about how unladylike it was. “Aversa, the ‘suitors and things’ have escalated into a state of emergency. I found a suitor that I may somewhat like, I think we’re friends, but father wants to know if I plan to _marry_ him so he knows to stop sending for more!”  
  
Frederick heard Aversa let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “Oh, the messiness of monogamy. I’ve never understood the appeal. Why can’t you marry him?”  
  
“Father thinks he’s a woman in disguise,” Emmeryn mumbled— and Frederick had to resist the urge to cringe. _So Phobos had been right._ “It’s awful, isn’t it? I nearly blew him out the window when he first brought it up a few months ago. I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than six words since.”  
  
“Mm, and you can’t kill him, or you’ll be ineligible for the throne,” Aversa mused. “How bothersome. Shall I do it instead?”  
  
“As nice as it would feel, that’s a horrible thing to think,” Emmeryn admitted. “I don’t want to kill anyone to get my way. You know how I feel about acting on the urges of unnecessary violence.”  
  
Aversa sighed, and set her hands on Emmeryn’s shoulders. “Emmeryn, you are an angel. An absolute darling, the epitome of goodness and purity and all that is right in the world…”  
  
“But?” Emmeryn gave her friend a pointed look.  
  
_“But_ it’s important to realize when it’s better to just… oh, push someone off a nearby cliff or something.” She would know— Plegia, though a good and fair country in its own right (that was, different enough from Ylisse it was easy for ignorance to turn into prejudice), had a fairly messy royal history (though it wasn’t like Ylisse didn’t). Aversa, as a young woman of aristocracy, learned it was a good catch-all strategy to have knowledge on anyone you may need, and if that failed, poison and knives worked just as well. Frederick would never approve, but if anyone were to be close friends with the queen of such a country, it would be Emmeryn.  
  
“You’re a terrible influence,” Emmeryn sighed. “I’m not going to murder my father because he says I’m not allowed to like women. I’ll just… well, I’m sure I can figure something out.”  
  
Aversa let out a short cackle. “I’m sure you will! Now, darling, what about this friend of yours? What is he like? How is he in bed?”  
  
_“Aversa!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want emmeryn and aversa to be friends is that so much to ask


	7. The Sparrow Before the Serpent

As far as human beings went, Aversa knew she wasn’t a perfect one. She was a very accomplished liar and proud of her title as a seductress, selling secrets for her own gain and keeping them just to watch the owners squirm under her heel. She wanted power, most of all, even more than wealth (though often, the wealth that came along with power was a nice perk), and was not ashamed to admit this. She had perfected the way she walked, the way she could drop her voice to a sultry purr, the way she could tilt her chin _just so_ to make lesser men and women melt in her hands. She knew how to bend wills like putty using a few well-placed words, and how to destroy somebody with the right suggestions at the right times. Aversa practically _oozed_ dark temptations, a kind of power that could destroy anyone should she decide to use it, and the hint of twisted glee that came from using it. She was feared, simply because of what she chose to do with the knowledge she had a talent for amassing.  
  
She had not amassed any knowledge on matters of the heart.  
  
Watching Emmeryn sigh about the contents of a letter she’d recieved, clutch it to her chest and stare out the window when she thought Aversa wasn’t directly looking, felt strange. It was like her best friend had been caught in some kind of curse, but it was the awful kind that didn’t captivate her entirely in a dreamy pink haze where all that mattered was the object of her affections, like how books described it— no, this was the real thing, and the real thing was tearing Emmeryn up inside.  
  
“He’s just so _charming,”_ Emmeryn sighed for the fifth time, admiring the violets set on her dressing table. “And he’s said he loves me. I feel awful marrying him when I can never love him back. It’d be easier if I could just… not marry anyone. I’d rather be a spinster queen than be stuck with a husband I don’t really love.”  
  
Aversa bit back asking if she was _sure_ there was no one else she could talk to about this, because Aversa found the concept of being with only _one person_ her _entire life_ stiflingly boring. She was content in being convenience-married to a mad king that was perhaps one of the few people more despicable than she was (before getting into truly iredeemable territory, of course). This ‘pining’ business was decidedly not her territory.  
  
She hummed thoughtfully, propping up her cheek on a hand. “And yet, you’d marry him if he were a woman?”  
  
“In a heartbeat!” Emmeryn said wholeheartedly, looking back at Aversa over Phobos’ last letter, recieved a day and a half previous. “He’s funny, and cute, and I love listening to him talk. He always has the most interesting stories! And he’s _incredible_ with Chrom and Lissa. It feels like I’ve known him forever. Like I can be myself around him.”  
  
Aversa lifted a carefully-inked eyebrow. “Darling, that sounds like love to me. By which, of course, I mean that’s how I’ve heard it described. You know how I am with _romance.”_ She lengthened the word ‘romance’ to match the speed at which she rolled her eyes, looking back to Emmeryn with a skeptical expression. “Whether he’s a man or a woman seems inconsequential if that’s how you think about him.”  
  
Emmeryn pursed her lips. “Well, yes,” she said tightly. “If I were to marry anyone, I would want it to be Phobos. But… I’ll be proving my father right.”  
  
Aversa could sense the dark cloud lower itself over Emmeryn’s features, and she resisted the urge to scoop her up and pet her hair until it went away. Every time Aversa saw pretty, innocent girls like Emmeryn, her first instinct was to protect them. Even in Plegia, where everyone in the upper echelons who intended to keep their lives had some sort of weapon on them at any given time, she felt it. And then Emmeryn, practically the antithesis of all of that, woven of nothing but sunshine and goodness and all that was right and beautiful in the world, was a whole other level. Emmeryn was her angel, her treasure— Aversa loved her to absolute pieces with all the platonic intensity of a thousand suns.  
  
“Oh, who cares what _he_ thinks?” Aversa scoffed, setting her hands on Emmeryn’s shoulders. “Now, I could be a bit biased, politically speaking, but what right does he have to make you feel so torn up about these things? If it weren’t for his foolish delusion that making you marry some man would change you, you wouldn’t be in this suitor mess now.”  
  
“I know I shouldn’t listen to him,” Emmeryn sighed. “But it still feels awful. And then Phobos…”  
  
“I still need to meet him,” Aversa remarked. “Did you invite him to the party? And darling, if the king forbade you from inviting him, I’m afraid I’ll have to kill your father myself.”  
  
“Phobos is coming, yes,” Emmeryn replied, though she looked pointedly at Aversa. “And what did I tell you about murder not always being the answer?”  
  
Aversa waved a hand nonchalantly. “Details, details. Forgive me for saying it, but love, your father is an absolute _ass._ He’s even worse than Ganny, and I didn’t think you could even _get_ any worse than Ganny.” Though at least if Gangrel was a jackass, he was _her_ jackass and knew when to quit.  
  
“That’s probably an insult to your husband, comparing him to my father,” Emmeryn said dryly.  
  
“A jackass is a jackass is a jackass,” Aversa shrugged. “So when is this Phobos boy arriving?”  
  
“Soon, I hope,” Emmeryn frowned, looking at the envelope and then to the winter sunlight outside. “He said he’d be over as soon as he could. And Enderwick is an hour away on his pegasus, but I _really_ hope he won’t try to fly here in this cold…”  
  
She had spoken too soon. A second after the words left her mouth, Frederick swung the door open.  
  
“Sub-heading fourteen D, milady,” he puffed. “Phobos is in the courtyard.”  
  
Aversa let out a short laugh at the irony, while Emmeryn flushed a deep shade of red. She started towards the door, then turned around and grabbed Aversa’s hands.  
  
“Promise me you won’t scare him too much? For me?” she pleaded.  
  
Ordinarily Aversa would’ve just chuckled and made an insincere statement about resisting the urge to meddle, but Emmeryn’s little face then just melted her heart.   
  
“Oh, alright,” Aversa promised. “For _you._ But I can’t promise he’ll react the same way you did upon realizing just what an awful person I am. In fact, there are very few people who would. I’m what most of you Ylisseans call ‘morally reprehensible.’”  
  
Emmeryn pursed her lips. She had to admit that was true. Of course _she_ didn’t think Aversa was morally reprehensible at all, but then, she didn’t think anyone couldn’t be forgiven. She chose to believe everyone held their own moral compass, whether it pointed the same way hers did or not, and deserved basic decency and respect. And behind all of Aversa’s showy flirtation and openness about things like straight-up murder in the first degree, she had a good head on her shoulders— though she would never, ever admit it, even to herself.  
  
“Just…” Emmeryn paused. “No hugging, okay?”  
  
Aversa rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright. I promise.”  
  
Emm let out a short sigh in relief, then led Aversa out to the courtyard. Frederick was speaking to a thickly-built boy with a pegasus whom Emmeryn could only assume was Phobos, though from the distance, Aversa couldn’t tell what it was.   
  
She appraised this supposed suitor to Emmeryn from a respectable distance. With his head turned, she couldn’t quite see his face, but she was certain that he was, in fact, a youth about Emmeryn’s age, as opposed to an adult older than the lot of them. He was dressed simply, not quite like a soldier but not like a commoner either, with a thick leather breastplate belted around his torso over his coat and guards on his lower legs. It seemed curious to Aversa why he’d bother, but she supposed it was sensible gear for riding. The harp on his back threw her off for a second, its carefully-polished wood and fine strings clashing oddly with his armor, but unexpected as it was, it wasn’t exceedingly rare to find a lightly-armored minstrel in Plegia, and she was sure that was the same in Ylisse.  
  
Emmeryn waved, releasing Aversa’s hand, and stepped forward to meet the boy, who grinned cheerily at her with cheeks flushed from the cold and chapped from the wind. He swept the red wool cap on his head off with one gloved hand, giving Emmeryn an extravagant bow. Aversa arched an eyebrow seeing his face— if this suitor was a man, as everyone seemed to be assuming, he certainly wasn’t an old one. Nonetheless, he kissed Emmeryn’s hand and she kissed his cheek, and Aversa began to realize that perhaps the thick breastplate served a different function.  
  
“This is the suitor I was telling you about, Aversa,” Emmeryn explained, leading the boy back over to where Aversa was standing, under the archway of the exterior path around the frost-covered courtyard. Frederick, as he always did, followed Emmeryn with his hands at parade rest behind his back.  
  
The first thing Aversa noted was Phobos’s height. He was shorter than Emmeryn by nearly two inches, and Aversa towered over Emmeryn by an entire foot. He had to tilt his chin up to look at her, which he did with a look of mild fear and intimidation on his youthful, chubby-cheeked face. He looked like a garden sparrow meeting a serpent— a venomous one, that he knew could swallow him whole. If Emmeryn noticed the color drain from his face, she didn’t mention it, and to Phobos’s credit, he did an excellent job of maintaining composure.  
  
“So you must be Phobos,” Aversa purred out, not bothering to hide the way she was looking at him down the bridge of her nose. “Emmeryn has told me quite a lot about you. I’m told you’re going to be married after Emmeryn’s coronation, is this true?”  
  
Phobos coughed a little, trying to keep himself from squeaking. “Th-that is the plan, yes, milady.”  
  
Aversa took notice of his voice then, how the huskiness of it sounded almost as if he were suffering from allergies, but the almost musical lilt in it stuck out to Aversa. And then the little details filled themselves in— the way he stood with his shoulders spread just a bit too stiffly, the way the toes of his boots had scooted inward, the softness of his cheeks and jawline, the gentle curve of his hairline. His throat lacked a visible adam’s apple, his crimson eyes seemed just a bit wide and long-lashed.  
  
And then it clicked.  
  
The instant it did, she felt Frederick’s eyes on her, boring into her like a heated prong through ice, which she met with a calm gaze that held an edge like a poisoned knife.

_Don’t you dare say anything,_ his steely glare said then, ringing loud in her head as if he’d spoken into her mind.  
  
 _I wouldn’t even dream of it,_ her own replied cooly. Frederick knew the way she worked— she learned secrets, and as long as there was no way for her to gain by telling them, she would carry them to her grave.  
  
Frederick cursed inwardly. Ashamed as he was to admit it, he hadn’t thought about how observant Aversa could be, hadn’t thought about her _way_ of seeing what people really were and the right strings to tug to get them to do whatever she wished, like a puppetmaster. Emmeryn was immune, because Emmeryn held nothing but sunshine and pureness and unconditional love for everything and everyone in all of existence, compassionate and kind and completely uncorruptable, though still undoubtedly human.  
  
In a similar vein, he really did know that Aversa would keep Phobos’s secret, but he didn’t understand the reason for that, either. As good as Aversa was at learning secrets, she was even better at hiding her own so well it was difficult to comprehend her even _having_ any. It was like she was deliberately hiding her own humanity, turning herself into a static caricature no one bothered to fathom into dynamism. Frederick was certain she had a reason, but, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, he couldn’t imagine what it was.  
  
Of course, all of this happened in the span of a second, and without missing a beat, Aversa continued the conversation.  
  
“Though, you’d be a prince then,” she said nonchalantly. “Politically speaking. The queen’s husband is always a prince, unless he’s the heir and is coronated before marrying. Though I’m sure it’s more complex than that, I’ve never bothered looking into it in-depth.”  
  
“I’ll ask Frederick if I’m curious,” Phobos agreed. “But I don’t really mind. I’m not particularly suited to politics or law or anything.”  
  
Aversa hummed, a bemused smile of what could’ve been mild approval crossing her painted face. As silly and theatrical as he was greeting Emmeryn, it was clear he wasn’t one of those types that thought himself a visionary because he could half-carry a tune and pluck a string on a lute. He wasn’t a snotty noble, wasn’t greedy or power-hungry or only in it because Emmeryn was attractive— not that Aversa underestimated Emmeryn’s aptitude for judging someone’s character at all, of course. If she didn’t want to be around them, she would’ve sent them away without a second thought. But, as Aversa knew, there were a lot of people out there that were very, very good liars, and she wouldn’t stand for Emmeryn marrying someone she thought she could stand, only to be decieved. Emmeryn deserved the best, so Aversa wouldn’t have her settle for anything less than the _best._  
  
“You’re here, then, because of Emmeryn,” Aversa said after a brief pause, setting her hand on Emmeryn’s shoulder. “Is that correct?”  
  
“I… suppose you could put it that way,” Phobos replied, idly fiddling with his gloves. “I just want her to be happy.” He seemed to be staring intently at the stones on the ground, a faint blush on his cheeks that couldn’t be blamed on the cold. Emmeryn was looking at him with a little smile on her face, her eyes shining like she was just barely suppressing the urge to kiss him right there. It was so utterly sweet, Aversa didn’t have the heart to internally roll her eyes as she usually did upon seeing cliché displays of romantic love.  
  
“I see.” Aversa’s response was short, but she allowed the ghost of a smile to turn her lips upwards. “I expect you to treat her well, then.” She gave Emmeryn’s shoulder a fond little squeeze then, and Phobos looked back at Aversa and nodded truthfully. He had the sense that he’d earned a piece of Aversa’s approval then, so he allowed himself to breathe a little deeper.  
  
“I will, milady,” he said with certainty. “On my honor.”  
  
Frederick cleared his throat, all business as usual. “If this discussion is over,” he announced. “Princess, perhaps you ought to go back inside. This cold will make you sick if you remain much longer.”  
  
Emmeryn rolled her eyes, but he knew she was right, and laced her fingers with Phobos’s like it was nothing. “Oh, fine. Phobos, are you staying until the party? We have open rooms.”  
  
“I-if it’s alright,” Phobos stuttered, like he’d fully expected to only stay for an afternoon. “I mean… I’d love to.”  
  
Emmeryn’s face lit up. “Do you mind if I show you around, then?” she asked. “It’s a bit of a labyrinth. Are you coming too, Aversa?”  
  
Aversa felt Frederick’s eyes on her again. “I think I’ll stay out here,” she decided. “Get a little fresh air, you know. Have fun, darling.” She leaned down and pecked the top of Emmeryn’s head gently, and watched as Emmeryn led Phobos back inside the castle.  
  
And with that, she let out a sigh, folding her arms and shifting her weight to one leg. “Do you intend to put a knife in my neck yourself, sir Frederick, or shall I spare you the trouble?”  
  
“Milady,” he said stiffly.  
  
She turned and faced him, her boots granting three inches of height on him. “Forgive me if I’m not well-versed in Ylissean customs, sir Frederick, but typically when one stares so at another’s neck it means one wishes to kill them. I merely want to make sure, so I lack doubt about the nature of our relationship.”  
  
“I don’t intend to kill you,” he seethed, unused to having to look up at people when they were both standing, adding an additional level of oddly comical frustration off of which he knew Aversa thrived.  
  
“Could’ve fooled me,” Aversa sang, a hand on her hip. “What exactly is it you want from me, then?”  
  
“You know—“ Frederick glanced around, as if worring someone would overhear, then stepped a bit closer and lowered his voice. “You know full well what!”  
  
She chuckled, arching her eyebrows. “About that boy, isn’t it? Or girl, rather, or perhaps both, or a mixture, or neither. I have to say, I’m impressed they’ve gotten this far playing off the assumption you Ylisseans have that, because they intend to marry Emmeryn, they happen to be male. How clever!”  
  
Frederick scowled at Aversa’s obvious amusement. In his experience, the queen of Plegia being honestly entertained by anything meant she was rapidly finding a way to meddle with it so she benefited. He could practically see the gears turning in her head— he didn’t know _what_ she was planning, but the percieved likelihood that she’d end up telling the secret of Phobos’s gender to anyone else was too great for him to leave it alone in good conscience.  
  
“Phobos is a good friend of mine,” he explained, letting out a sigh through his nose. “For the most part, he considers himself female, though the extent varies from day to day.”  
  
“Question,” Aversa remarked. “Exactly how do the two of them connect? You can’t just be setting them up solely based on Phobos’s gender. And besides you and myself, now, who knows? How convoluted is your little matchmaking scheme?” Her eyes glittered with something that could’ve been called mischief, but in Frederick’s opinion, that was too lighthearted a word.  
  
“Only the two of us, and Phobos, obviously, know,” he said. “If word gets out, Emmeryn and the king will inevitably learn, and all of it will have been for nothing. Especially since Phobos even being here is in direct disobedience with the king.” His voice dropped towards the end, and Aversa had the sense that his current plan went against everything he’d ever learned. That piqued her interest— what could be so vital that he risked his position as a knight to get Emmeryn married?  
  
Ah.  
  
“Emmeryn and Phobos,” she began. “This isn’t the first time they’ve met, is it?”  
  
Frederick shook his head. “Five years ago, Phobos and I were in training together, and as she was the head of our class, Phobos was expected to become the bodyguard of the royal family. She and Emmeryn, being close in age, became good friends, and I was more or less pulled along. They were very close— all of us were, but it was a particular variety of closeness between the younger Emmeryn and Phobos that had the king grow suspicious.”  
  
“He separated them,” Aversa remarked before Frederick explained it. “Oh, poor Emmeryn!”  
  
“She was furious,” Frederick agreed. “His Majesty and Emmeryn have never quite seen eye to eye, but since the queen’s death, their relationship kept getting tenser. Sending Phobos’s family to the other side of the country was the final straw. It would not be hyperbole if I were to say it was nearly the cause of a civil war. Since then, I don’t think either of them have been quite the same.”  
  
“And now you intend to, essentially, perform a direct act of defiance for the king’s orders,” Aversa summed up. “To reunite Emmeryn with a long-lost childhood girlfriend, using the power of heteronormativity and faith in people’s acceptance of past events as the past.”  
  
“It is more than a little bit risky,” Frederick admitted. “People can change quite a lot over five years. There was no guarantee they would get along again after so long, especially since Emmeryn can’t know yet.”  
  
Aversa clicked her tongue in wonder. “To think _you’d_ come up with this. Sir Frederick, matchmaker! I never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
“But you must understand, you absolutely _cannot_ tell anyone,” Frederick hissed. “The risk that word will get out is too great. The king cannot know for obvious reasons, and you have seen what Emmeryn is like when she has to keep a secret— her wellbeing has already declined enough.”  
  
He was right, and he knew he was right, and he knew exactly how to convince Aversa to do something— Emmeryn was her one weakness, and the desire to make sure Emmeryn was safe and happy was the one thing they had in common. Aversa, too, knew he was right, and knew he knew he was right, and knew that he knew how to convince her. It was a mixture of annoying and impressive how remarkably well he’d pinned her down. It wasn’t easy to hold down a snake with one’s hands, after all.  
  
“So you’d rather have me as an ally than an enemy, this time,” Aversa concluded, folding her arms. “And what makes you so sure I won’t stab you in the back?”  
  
“We both want the same thing,” Frederick said simply, giving a nonchalant shrug that was really anything _but_ nonchalant. “We both want Emmeryn to be happy. An alliance is the way to get it. Of course, this hardly makes us friends.”  
  
 “Of course not,” Aversa purred, her lips curling into a smirk Frederick could only describe as self-satisfied. He scowled at that— of course she’d find a twisted glee in his asking her for an alliance. Of _course._  
  
And yet, it was the logical thing to do. They both wanted the same thing, so it made sense to work together. Frederick could only hope that this once, Aversa would be trustworthy.


	8. Daisies and Vanilla

Emmeryn had intended to show Phobos around the more common areas of the castle— really, she had. But instead they'd gotten to talking as they walked, and one thing led to another, and Emmeryn had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into her study.  
  
Stating it, the scenario had a very different connotation than what had actually happened, though that couldn't be further from Emmeryn's mind. She'd pushed the curtains aside and shuffled through the parchment and books on her desk, trying to find the one with the gist of what she wanted to explain to him— her political policies.  
  
"See, here it is," she finally decided, looking through a pair of reading glasses on her nose at a little handmade book bound with leather and glue. (If she noticed the flush in Phobos's cheeks then, she didn't pay much attention to it.) "I _knew_ I had a summary of it all somewhere."  
  
"I, ah," Phobos stammered. "Well, no one can say you're not thorough."  
  
Emmeryn smiled sheepishly, made about sixty times cuter with her glasses for, as far as Phobos could tell, literally no discernable reason. "It _is_ a lot, isn't it? I'm afraid I've never been good at filing things. But really, who has time for that? If I'm to be coronated within the year, I need to start getting things done now. I've already begun petitioning the Council about a more reliable inter-city mail system, as well as better system for dealing with sanitation hazards in the cities…"  
  
Phobos, admittedly, stopped listening then. He watched her hands move as she turned the pages of the book, her veins pale blue through fair, transluscent skin. Winter sunlight through the windows sent bright reflections off her fine hair that nearly blinded Phobos every time her head moved to tilt them into his eyes. She spoke so surely, like she knew perfectly well what she was doing— not like a princess, but like a queen. Her lips looked so soft that Phobos wanted to kiss them right there, pull her close as if an errant wind would pull her away, run the calloused pads of his fingers down her soft jawline, feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed. He wondered if her lips still tasted like dasies and vanilla, the warm glow of summertime dancing across his tongue and bringing to mind braiding flowers in the garden and dipping bare feet into the ugly fountain, catching fireflies in glass jars and letting them go because it'd be mean to keep them forever. Staying up late at night talking and sharing secrets. Lacing fingers while walking together. Eagerness and shyness and giggliness all in one with scrunched-up noses and awkwardly-squashed lips and hands gripping one another's tightly, half-hidden behind garden shrubbery and the castle wall.  
  
He wondered, not without melancholy, if she remembered, too.  
  
"Foreign policy!" she said suddenly, knocking Phobos out of his thoughts like a hammer to a windowpane. "I _knew_ I was forgetting something. Hold this, please."  
  
She pushed the book into his hands and dug through her cluttered desk, setting aside empty ink bottles (only the finest) and broken quills and page after page full of notes and diagrams in tiny, perfect handwriting. Out of curiousity, Phobos glanced over the page Emmeryn had given him to see if he could decipher anything she'd written (which, predictably, he couldn't). Though her desk was a mess, her notes were anything but. It reminded Phobos of a legal contract, with tiny writing from margin to margin, and very few of the other documents and parchments on the desk looked any different. Offhandedly, Phobos wondered about her wrists— did they have healing spells to repair the strained nerves and muscles and prevent pain, or did she just have to live with it?  
  
Emmeryn eventually pulled out another stack of papers, folded up and tied together with string. "By the time I'm queen, I'll have everything compiled into that book," she explained, glancing over the papers in her hands and looking, for all the world, like exactly the type of queen that had thought of everything and had the notes to back it up. "I'm calling for huge changes to be made, hopefully ones that will serve the people of Ylisse for generations to come."  
  
"I wasn't aware there were changes that needed to be made," Phobos said, bewildered.  
  
"It isn't that a lot of these changes _need_ to be made," Emmeryn began, adjusting her reading glasses by the bridge. "After all, things could certainly be worse. But don't you think they could be better, too? It's been eight years since the last war ended, but my father and the Council are still more focused on economics than actual recovery efforts. They don't pay attention to the people, and the country isn't going anywhere because of that. It's 'good,' I suppose, but if I don't do anything when I become queen, it'll never get any better."  
  
Phobos was suddenly filled with the sense that, quite simply, Emmeryn was _way_ out of his league. He'd been infatuated since he first saw her, when they'd met all those years ago, and seeing her again after such a long time only rekindled those feelings as strong as they ever were. At first, being in her presence gave him the familiar sensation that he was in the same room as an angel, a perfect being of whom he would never truly be worthy, someone to be admired and revered and loved as one did a benevolent diety. Emmeryn was perfect, uncorruptable, a shining pillar of all that was good in the world. Ylisse's eldest princess, heir to the throne, seen by her people as a distant, unattainable standard of morality with a pretty face and little bearing on their lives. Even out of the public eye, except with the few close to her, she was distant and polite, the outward symbol of all a Ylissean princess was _supposed_ to be. She smiled at everything but it was only sincere enough to hide suspicion, and at first Phobos had believed it too, but now, he wasn't so sure.  
  
Only now, what had been infatuation had spiraled into something far more complex that Phobos wasn't sure he could accurately name. He recalled kisses in the courtyard between two little girls that swore they'd get married one day and said they loved each other without knowing what love really meant until it was ripped away, between a frail but sweet princess that saw the beauty in everything and a hot-headed trainee with a passion for music and climbing trees. They were as different as the sun and the sky— Emmeryn the sun, so powerful but welcomed as it rose over the horizon; Phobos the sky, a vast embrace of blue that allowed the sun and stars to shine in the day and the night. What Phobos felt went past aesthetic admiration or even a sense of hopeless adoration that would likely never come to fruit, it was the burning coals of adolescent passion that had never truly gone out, mixed with new feelings that gave rise to a sense of peace and self that Phobos felt around Emmeryn; a feeling that _this,_ by Emmeryn's side, was where he was meant to be.  
  
He felt something swell in his chest— pride, he thought, that this was the woman he would marry! He felt like boasting to the world about it. No other gentleman in the world would ever have the privelege of courting a woman like Emmeryn. She was, in a far more meaningful way than merely the surface level, perfect.  
  
"You'll be the best," he said, filled with a sudden sureness. "Better than your father, dare I say it. I doubt that any of the rest of those kings and queens have worked as hard as you have on what's truly best for the people."  
  
Emmeryn blushed, admittedly caught off-guard by Phobos's sudden confession. "Do you think so? I've been looking at my mother's old notes, from before my father started declaring war on everyone that looked at him funny— the Queen Florence papers, the Council calls them. There's a lot about setting up public gardens and theaters and things, building roads to improve the movement of resources from the farms and fields to the cities. For how little mother knew about politics itself, she was awfully keen on the larger concepts about economics and trade."  
  
Everyone knew the late Queen Florence, of course— a real queen of the people, they said. _A pity how she died,_ some would say, though nobody knew if her sickness was caused by a virus or by the strain of childbirth. (And some said the king had her killed because he thought she was having an affair, as their third child did not look much like him, but Phobos wasn't one to believe urban legends about royal families that were more than likely untrue.)  
  
"You'll be amazing," Phobos insisted. "Better than amazing, you'll be— you'll be—" He couldn't think of a word more superlative than amazing. 'Incredible' came to mind, as did 'radiant,' 'magical,' and vague half-words and hand gestures that came closest to expressing just what it was he was sure she'd be.  
  
Emmeryn chuckled humbly. "I'm going to try my best," she said, with a little lift of her shoulders, setting her glasses on top of her papers. "Whether or not I'm 'amazing' will be up to the people. After my father, they might expect me to be another warmonger, following in his footsteps, even if that's the last thing I intend to do."  
  
"If they have a problem with that, they can take it up with me," Phobos promised, reaching out and taking her hand. "Emmeryn, you'll be the greatest queen Ylisse has ever known. I swear it on the name of Naga."  
  
"Then I'll hold you to it," Emmeryn giggled a little, squeezing his hand gently. "And I trust you'll be the greatest royal consort Ylisse has ever known, as well?"  
  
"If the wedding is still on," Phobos admitted. "I think I'd like that."  
  
"Of course the wedding is on," Emmeryn let out a light scoff, starting to lead him back out of her study. "Come on, I want to show you something."  
 It wasn't like he had much of a choice. Emmeryn led him down a flight of stairs to the hall outside the throne room, where portraits of previous kings and queens of Ylisse were displayed in heavy gold frames, painted by a royally-appointed portrait artist that devoted an entire day to capturing the exact visage of the royal in question. The most recent one there was King Lionel, standing at a much younger age with the same cobalt beard and thick stature and bright blue eyes that Emmeryn and her siblings had, one hand on the Ylisse royal sword, Falchion, and the other holding a shield with the House Grace coat of arms. But it was him alone, like all the other portraits— the sovereign in question was always alone in the portraits. Portraits of the royal consorts, or of the royal families at the time, were never displayed in the same hall as the pictures of the rulers.  
  
"I want you to be with me when my picture is up there," Emmeryn decided, facing the spot of wall next to King Lionel where her portrait would hang. "I don't care if it's never been done. I want you in that picture, too."  
  
"Why?" Phobos could only think to say. "That isn't—"  
  
 "Traditional?" Emmeryn suggested. "That's exactly why. So what if it isn't? In all these portraits, the portraits people see, the subject is always alone. But that isn't how you run a country. To run a country, you have to be able to trust the people around you and know when to accept their help. Of course, if I had it my way, there'd be more than just us— I'd have Aversa and Frederick and Chrom and Lissa, too, as well as you and me. But that'd be a little much for the artist, don't you think?"  
  
"I doubt your siblings would sit still for that long," Phobos admitted. "So, Queen Emmeryn, is that a promise?"  
  
"It's a definite promise," Emmeryn agreed firmly. "When I'm queen… when I'm queen, maybe I'll be able to do something big. I know it'll take time, but— well, I certainly don't intend to die at twenty-five. I'll do it anyway."  
  
Her eyes were shining— like little miniature suns, Phobos realized. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, just a little, and though her skin was warm, it didn't burn him.  
  
Her skin tasted like daisies and vanilla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am still alive after finishing most of 'end days.' I'm taking a break from that and continuing to write more chapters later in December, but I hope to finish it by February! As for my other projects, well
> 
> haha
> 
> hahahaha
> 
> hahahahahahaha


	9. It's a Secret (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been like 87 years but i had some ideas and well here i am!! yay!! this is gonna be fun yall stay tuned for part 2

When her actual birthday arrived, Emmeryn tried her absolute hardest to avoid the attention. But try as she may, even she couldn't skip the party— even if there were only a few people there she actually knew, and even if she hated most of everyone else. She had to relearn every year that this was the price of being the birthday girl.  
  
It was useless, but she stopped by her father's study after breakfast. She watched him study a war map with furrowed eyebrows for awhile, and then made her presence known.  
  
"You didn't come to breakfast today, father," she noted.  
  
"I'm busy," he mumbled, not looking up. "I will take my meal later."  
  
"Majorie made a cake," she continued, looking over the map. "For the occasion, you know."  
  
"Mm. That's nice," the king replied.  
  
"The occasion," she prompted, leaning a little closer. "You know. My birthday?"  
  
Her father straightened, tilting his head. "Was that today? Goodness, the days fly."  
  
"Yes, they do," Emmeryn said, and then sighed. "I'll talk to you later, father."  
  
"You do that," her father replied. "Give my regards to your brother."  
  
It's like he wasn't even trying. Emmeryn left, feeling significantly worse than she had before— not that she'd started the day feeling particularly lighthearted. Every year was the same gods-damned thing, where there'd be a party she didn't want to attend with people she didn't want to see, and her father would barely acknowledge it more than he acknowledged her everyday existence (which was to say, only when she forced him to or when necessary). Why should she expect anything different today?  
  
———  
  
She still had time before the party started, so she took the back stairways and sulked down in one of her favorite corners of the library. She tried to get lost in one of her favorite volumes of old Ylissean legends, but magic crackled at her fingertips in the most annoyingly distracting way. Emmeryn took a breath, forcing herself to be calm and focus on the words on the page. It worked, sort of.  
  
Sort of.  
  
Lissa tried to be quiet when she tiptoed over, she really did. The problem was that she was seven and seven-year-olds are not known for their sneaking skills. The rustling of her skirt caught Emmeryn's attention before Lissa could get very close.  
  
"Hello, Lissa," Emmeryn sighed, not looking up from her book. She forced a smile, then set her book down. "What are you up to, sneaking around?"  
  
Lissa tiptoed closer, then beckoned for Emm to lean down. She did. Then Lissa whispered, "I'm gonna give you your birthday present early. Miss April said I wasn't s'posed to give birthday presents before the birthday party, but I worked really, really hard on this one this year. I got it all by myself, with no help from Chrom this time!"  
  
"All by yourself?" Emmeryn arched an eyebrow. "My goodness! You must've worked very hard."  
  
Lissa nodded. "I did, I did! But it's okay I give it to you early, right?"  
  
"It's absolutely okay," Emmeryn promised. "Now what is it?"  
  
Lissa pulled a small, thick box out from behind her back. It was wrapped in a yellow ribbon, with _to Emm from Lissa_ written in Lissa's slow, deliberate handwriting. Emm opened the box carefully and pulled out a pretty leather-bound journal with several rainbow-colored ribbon bookmarks glued into place.  
  
 "Oh, Lissa, it's lovely!" Emmeryn exclaimed, smiling honestly this time. Lissa wriggled into Emm's lap and brushed a bit of dust off the cover.  
  
"Open it," she urged. "I wrote a 'this book belongs to' on the first page, like books are supposed to have. Only it's prettier."  
  
"A bookplate?" Emmeryn corrected.  
  
"One of those," Lissa nodded. "Except it's prettier. Go on, look at it!"  
  
Emmeryn opened the front cover. Her smile only grew when she saw that Lissa had decorated the inside cover with flowers and butterflies drawn with her crayons. _This book belongs to my big sister Emmeryn Grace,_ it said in Lissa's handwriting. Emmeryn pressed her hand to her grin, as she traced one of the butterflies.  
  
"Do you like it?" Lissa asked anxiously. "I worked really hard, Emm!"  
  
"I can tell you did," Emmeryn kissed her forehead. "And I love it! How did you ever know I needed a new journal?"  
  
Lissa giggled, making her chubby pink cheeks squish up. "I saw you showing Phobos yours," she said. "And it's all falling apart and stuff. So I got you a big thick one you can put new notes in, and draw maps like you draw them, all pretty with the trees and rivers and things. It's kind of small to look like one of papa's war maps, but I guess that's okay, isn't it?"  
  
"It's better than okay," Emmeryn promised. "Thank you so much, Lissa!" She pulled her little sister into a hug, making Lissa giggle.  
  
"You know, you're eighteen now," Lissa remembered, her little voice solemn. "You know what that means?"  
  
"What does it mean?" Emmeryn asked.  
  
"I'm almost eight," Lissa said seriously. "Eight is almost ten. That means I will no longer be a child."  
  
"Now _that's_ exciting," Emmeryn remarked. "Are you excited to be eight soon?"  
  
"I don't know," Lissa frowned. "It's a lot of responsibility. I start magic lessons when I'm eight. That's very big stuff. I might be able to fight Chrom for real."  
  
"It is," Emmeryn agreed. "I don't think you need to fight Chrom, though, do you?"  
  
"He told me playing with dolls was for babies!" Lissa protested. "I have to fight him! For honor! And even though I think learning to fight with axes and hammers would be fun, magic is the real toughest way to fight. So I have to learn it."  
  
"I'm sure you'll be great at it," Emmeryn promised. "Though, where is Chrom? He didn't even finish breakfast this morning."  
  
Lissa shook her head. "Secret," she said. "He told me I wasn't s'posed to tell you. He said, _'Lissa, shh, this is a secret, so you can't tell Emm 'bout where I'm going.'_ But he didn't tell me where he's going either, so I really don't know."  
  
"Oh, it's a secret, is it?" Emmeryn nodded. "Don't worry. If it's a secret, I won't pry."  
  
"Good," Lissa said matter-of-factly. She hopped off of Emm's lap, and smoothed out the sunflower-yellow skirt of her dress. "I have to go," she said next. "Real important. Sorry I can't stay with you on your birthday, Emm."  
  
"Don't worry, I understand," Emmeryn promised. "Have fun!"  
  
"Real important," Lissa said again. Then she nodded, and dashed off, scurrying back around the bookshelf that sectioned off Emmeryn's corner from the rest of the library.  
  
A little strange, Emmeryn realized. But, ultimately, probably nothing.  
  
———  
  
Emmeryn met up with Aversa for lunch. They ate in the guest suite Aversa was staying in with her husband (Gangrel was currently elsewhere, which suited Emm just fine), and Aversa admired the journal Lissa had gifted.   
  
"How adorable," she cooed. "You're lucky to have little siblings."  
  
"I thought you were related to the High Priest's family," Emmeryn tried to remember.  
  
Aversa made a disgusted noise and waved a hand. "Professionally. I studied under him for a time, until I learned the real way to power was to marry into it. His first wife was quite lovely, though I haven't had the fortune of meeting his second. Rumor has it she's planning on kicking him out of the estate and adopting his first two children."  
  
"More power to her?" Emmeryn guessed.  
  
"Indeed!" Aversa agreed. "Oh, listen to me. I must seem a terrible gossip."  
  
"Don't say that," Emmeryn insisted. "Any information may be useful to me as queen sovereign. I appreciate it greatly that you're willing to share with me."  
  
Aversa rolled her eyes, brushing some of Emm's hair behind her ear. "Darling, you sound like a politician. Save that for the party."  
  
Emmeryn sighed. "The party. Don't remind me. Do I really have to go?"  
  
"I'm not the one to ask," Aversa chuckles. "Considering Ylissean parties are usually pits full of well-dressed cockroaches, I don't blame you."  
  
"I'm sorry," Emmeryn apologized. "You're really the only thing that makes these parties bearable, and I know you hate them."  
  
 "I would endure the most heinous of viper-filled political parties for you, darling," Aversa promised, kissing Emm's cheek. "Besides, it's your birthday! If nothing else, you can enjoy that everyone is socially obligated to be civil to you today, and they'll be on their way tomorrow."  
  
"It's horrible of me, but I'll be glad to see them go," Emmeryn muttered.  
  
"I don't think that's horrible at all," Aversa replied. "There's not a nasty bone in your body, darling."  
  
"It must be something, then," Emmeryn mumbled.  
  
"Hm?" Aversa frowned.  
  
"Nothing," Emmeryn shook her head. "Have you seen Chrom? I haven't seen him all day. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Frederick or Phobos, either. And Lissa ran off right after giving me this present."  
  
"They're probably all somewhere in the castle," Aversa waves a hand. "It's practically a fortress. You could go days without seeing somebody despite being in the same keep."  
  
"I… suppose you're right," Emmeryn admitted. "Still. It's a bit strange."  
  
———  
  
The strangeness didn't stop there. For one, King Lionel actually approached Emmeryn when she was copying down a few of her loose notes into her new journal, which was very odd. Emmeryn tried not to look too surprised when he walked in without knocking.  
  
"Where is Chrom?" he asked. "I haven't seen him all day."  
  
"I don't know either, father," she said evenly. "Perhaps he's preparing something for tonight."  
  
"The boy is ten, what could he be preparing?" King Lionel asked, flabbergasted.  
  
"He's eleven, and perhaps it's a surprise," Emmeryn replied. "In the meantime, you might go talk to Lissa. I know you're terribly disappointed in her existence, but I'm sure it wouldn't trouble you too much to let her know when House Fey is arriving."  
  
The king grunted. "Perhaps another time," he said, vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of actually engaging with his youngest. "She seems to value these things coming from you more than me."  
  
_And how would you know?_ Emmeryn wanted to ask. To her credit, she didn't. "Well, wherever Chrom is, perhaps that's where Frederick and Phobos are, too. I haven't seen hide nor hair of them all day."  
  
"Oh, I know where Phobos is," Lionel said. "I had him assist me in a task."  
  
Emmeryn looked up from her notes and raised an eyebrow. "Father, you _didn't_ send him on a pointless adventure for some trinket that no longer exists, did you? We talked about this."  
  
"No, no, of course not," Lionel insisted, waving a hand. "The very thought. I thought that, perhaps, he could help me in finding your birthday present. Since that is today, and such."  
  
She tried very hard then not to roll her eyes. "We talked about that, too. This morning."  
  
"And it reminded me to complete the final step of getting you your gift," Lionel continued. "Thank you for that, my dear. It so happened, as Phobos' pegasus allows him added mobility, he was the prime cantidate to assist me."  
  
Emmeryn gave him a suspicious look. "If I find out you've sent him to— to fight a drake in my name or something, I'm going to be _very_ upset."  
  
 "Nothing like that," Lionel promised. Emmeryn didn't believe him one bit. "But it's a very important gift, this being a very important birthday. You're a grown woman now, after all!"  
  
_Does that mean you'll stop trying to ruin my courtship with Phobos because you don't approve of whatever gender he may or may not be?_ Emmeryn wants to ask, but that's a little mean, even to say to her father, who has not been the best at his job for the eight years it's been since the queen died. Not that she knew him that well beforehand…  
  
"The time flies," Emmeryn comments. "I don't feel much different." Being forced to mature faster than most her age would do that.  
  
"Nonetheless," Lionel clears his throat. "You have grown into a fine young woman. I am… proud, to see how far you have come. I think you will be a fine successor to the Ylissean throne."  
  
Emmeryn stared at him. It took a moment to register— was he _actually_ expressing something to her other than vague disapproval towards all she stood for? Was he saying something _affirming_ to her without expecting her to do him a favor? With nobles, it was difficult to tell what was sincere and what wasn't, and it seemed to go double with her father. One minute he was offering her something resembling fatherly advice, and the next he was criticizing her every policy. One minute praising Chrom for his dutifulness with practice, the next glaring with disdain at Lissa like he regretted her conception. There was just no telling with Lionel, and Emmeryn was awfully tired of it.  
  
She decided to guess he didn't mean it. "Thank you, father," she said obediently, like a good daughter. "Of course, if I am to be your successor, I do need to be prepared for the questions people will ask of me, and transferring my notes to a fresh journal is a good way to do this."  
  
"Of course, of course," Lionel agreed, clearing his throat quite awkwardly. "I suppose I will return to my work, as well. Farewell, daughter."  
  
He left. He still hadn't actually told her happy birthday.  
  
———  
  
Emmeryn found Frederick in the evening, right before the birthday party was about to start. He was staring out the windows anxiously, wringing his gloved hands.  
  
"Frederick!" she exclaimed, and he jumped further than she'd ever seen him jump before. "Where have you been all day? I haven't seen you anywhere!"  
  
"Busy, your highness," he said quickly. "Very, very busy. These, ah, guests arriving needed to be checked for weapons, as I know how you despise having weapons at banquets. And, my goodness, there are a lot of guests."  
  
"That makes sense," Emmeryn said, slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Are you alright, Frederick? You look like you've seen a ghost."  
  
"I suppose it's the cold," Frederick admitted. "This weather always has me a bit peaked. But, ah, my mother sent up a tonic for me, that I've taken, so hopefully I will be back at top condition soon."  
  
"You can't see the medics for that?" Emmeryn asked, frowning.  
  
"I wouldn't wish to bother them," Frederick replied, which made enough sense.  
  
"True, I suppose," Emmeryn admitted. Frederick visibly relaxed until her next question. "Where's Phobos?"  
  
"He, ah," Frederick cleared his throat. "Ran into some unsavory business in Enderwick while on an errand from your father. He told me to send you his deepest apologies that he may not make it to the party on time."  
  
"But…" Emmeryn frowned. "We were supposed to announce the courtship at the party today. Everyone has been clamoring for answers as to who I'm to marry, officially."  
  
"You may have to announce without him," Frederick said. "I'm very sorry."  
  
Emmeryn deflated. "No, it's alright," she replied. "I suppose I'll go… make my appearance. I hope you feel better soon, Frederick."  
  
Emmeryn left for the ballroom. Frederick let out a breath of relief, but inwardly had to wonder himself— just where was Phobos? Surely picking up the gift he'd gotten for Emmeryn shouldn't have taken this long?  
  
———  
  
The banquet seemed to be going well. Emmeryn's false smile had never shone brighter when asked if she was enjoying the festivities, but she mostly kept to herself in one corner and pretended to be having fun. It wouldn't have been so bad if someone she could talk to were here, but that wasn't an option. Frederick was on guard duty, Phobos hadn't shown up, Aversa was working the room, and her siblings were asleep— there was Gangrel, whom Emmeryn had had interesting conversations in the past, but he was one of the last people she wanted to talk to.  
  
And yet, he was her best option. It's almost lucky when he approaches, looks her up and down in a way that can't not be patronizing, and said, "You look miserable."  
  
"Good evening to you, too, your majesty," she said wearily. "Enjoying the party?"  
  
"Only as much as I'm required to by your sensitive little social protocols," he replied. "Did you get my gift? I had to mail it from Plegia."  
  
"Yes, I got it," Emmeryn recalled. "I'm glad you stuck to a wildly inappropriate antagonizing letter this year, instead of a rotting cat skull. That was an awful lot of trouble to clean up." But at least he remembered her birthday.  
  
"Not a day goes by I do not regret the _trauma_ I inadvertently visited upon your poor servants," Gangrel mock-sighed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Truly, I am wretched scum of this earth for such a horrific task. A letter truly was the right way to go."  
  
Emmeryn sighed. "What exactly is it you want to say to me?" she asked. "Just in case you fed the last one to one of your pets, I've drafted an amended peace treaty between Ylisse and Plegia. I'll send it your way if you like."  
  
Gangrel made a gagging noise. "Your childish attempts at amity do not even amuse me anymore, merely make me nauseous. No, I was merely here to ask if the rumor you were courting someone was true."  
  
Emmeryn raised an eyebrow. "It is. I don't see why you'd be concerned."  
  
"Where is your man, then?" Gangrel asked. "Is him not being here the reason you're sulking like a humpless camel?"  
  
"He _will_ be here!" Emmeryn felt the need to defend Phobos. "He's just… late. That's all. My father sent him on an errand, and he must be delayed."  
  
It was Gangrel's turn to look skeptical. "Yes. Delayed, all evening."  
  
Emmeryn was about to respond, but her father cleared his throat loudly enough for the banquet hall to turn to him and quiet down— the king was about to speak.  
  
"I must say once again," King Lionel announced. "That I am grateful to all who made the trip here for my daughter's eighteenth birthday. Now, many have wondered when she will marry— the answer to that is, over my dead body." A polite laugh from those assembled. Emmeryn rolled her eyes, and Gangrel snorted under his breath. "However, as you all know, I have begun sending for suitors— it is only recently she has chosen one, and this is the evening we make the decision final and public."  
  
Emmeryn looked up to where her father was, eyes widening. Was sending Phobos on an errand a lie to make sure she didn't suspect where he was? Was this what they were planning the whole time?  
  
KIng Lionel looked pleased with himself. "I present to the lords and ladies of the court, your future prince consort, Ser James Percival of Thenderan!"  
  
The young man beside King Lionel was handsome. He was tall, and strong-looking, and held a rapier at his side. Its scabbard was scratched in places, but otherwise lovingly oiled, and his shining silver breastplate was dented at the edges. A real warrior, then, and not a noble playing at soldiery. He looked at the crowd with just the right amount of aloof disdain, but looked over to Emmeryn and gave a perfectly charming smile.  
  
That was most definitely not Phobos. Emmeryn felt her hopes drop to the ground and shatter.  
  
"I must say, you have good taste," Gangrel admitted.  
  
"That isn't him," Emmeryn mumbled. "Father… he…"  
  
She could practically feel Gangrel raise his eyebrows. "Is now a bad time to request your father's head on a pike? I'm certain you want it too, now more than ever."  
  
Emmeryn felt like the world was caving in beneath her feet. What new flavor of betrayal was this? What had her father done with Phobos? Was he in danger doing a Herculean task somewhere, or dead? Had he been kidnapped or imprisoned? Had he been exiled from the country, never to be heard from again?  
  
She felt sick. Then the nausea turned to fire, burning, burning in the base of her stomach. She clenched her fists and grit her teeth, locked eyes with her father, and started pushing her way through the crowd, not caring how big a scene she made—  
  
_SLAM_. The doors opened.  
  
" _Stop!_ " A familiar voice cried. "That is the wrong man!"


	10. Duel of Judgement (Part 2)

The entire room gasped. Even Emmeryn did. The entire room watched the woman who'd slammed open the doors storm into the room, her riding boots loud on the polished marble floors. The crowd parted around her as if she were a specter, and she looked like one, in silver knight's armor that shone like a spotless mirror. Her skin was the healthy, rough, reddish hue of one who has spent hours in the sun, and her silvery hair, braided behind her head, gleamed in the lamplight of the ballroom. With the moon shining through the windows behind her, she looked almost like an angel.  
  
Emmeryn felt her heart race.  
  
"Guards!" the king shouted. "Arrest this woman!"  
  
And nobody responded.  
  
"I've taken care of your guards," the woman announced. "I believe the most pressing issue is your lies, your majesty!"  
  
"What treason is this?" King Lionel demanded.  
  
 "Treason of the heart, sir!" the woman replied. "For you have betrayed your eldest daughter, forcing her to accept a betrothal to the wrong man despite promising prior to this you would defer to her judgement!"  
  
"And what would you know?" Lionel sneered. "Who are you?"  
  
"The man princess Emmeryn was to marry was my twin brother, Phobos," the woman announced. "And I am his twin sister, ser Phila Gale of Sephyrus!"  
  
 _Phila?_  
  
"Phila?" Emmeryn shaped the name with her tongue, almost as if she couldn't dare believe it was true. She stared, wide-eyed, as Phila strode to the center of the ballroom.  
  
"We can settle this honorably, your majesty," she said, staring down the king. "Have your proposed prince draw his weapon! We will duel for honor!"  
  
"Have it your way," Lionel said coldly. He waved a hand at ser James, who strode through the ballroom and drew his rapier with an elegant hand.  
  
Phila drew a shortsword from her belt. "En garde, ser James," she taunted, backing into stance.  
  
"En garde, ser knight," ser James replied cooly, staring with a haughty gaze at the knight who dared crash the party.  
  
The two circled each other in slow, even steps. Emmeryn, stunned, could do nothing but watch. Then James lunged forwards with his rapier, which Phila caught on the wide blade of her shortsword.  
  
"In Rosanne, they could arrest you for such a crime as crashing a royal party," James said, attempting to strike again. Phila dodged.  
  
"Good thing we don't live in Rosanne, then," Phila replied. "If all gentlemen of Rosanne are of your caliber, I'm very glad to be Ylissean."  
  
They exchanged blows, metal glancing off metal. Neither seemed apt to cede.  
  
"What sort of man is your brother, that he sends his sister to fight as his champion?" James sneered.  
  
"If his majesty hadn't sent Phobos on a wild goose chase, he wouldn't have needed to," Phila replied. "That's rather unsportsmanlike of our king, isn't it?"  
  
They exchanged blows again, harder this time. Phila ducked to avoid one of James' slashes. The blade of the rapier shone wickedly in the lamplight. Emmeryn covered her hands with her mouth.  
  
"How do we know you aren't trying to win the hand of the princess yourself?" James demanded. "Trying to corrupt the princess with your deviant sapphic desires?"  
  
"That only proves that I know Emmeryn better than you ever could," Phila snarled.  
  
The blades clashed. Emmeryn couldn't take it anymore. She lunged forwards, holding her hands out.  
  
"Stop this!" she demanded. "Right now! Both of you, sheathe your blades! Can we not talk this through like civilized people?"  
  
"Milady, I—" James tried to say.  
  
"Don't!" Emmeryn cut him off, glaring straight at him. "Did my father put you up to this? And you!" She whirls on Phila. "You! I— what are you thinking, challenging a man to a duel in the middle of the ballroom?"  
  
"But—" Phila tried.  
  
"No!" Emmeryn interrupted. "No excuses!"  
  
She turned on her father, glare barely holding back a nauseatingly powerful mixture of rage, hurt, and contempt. Magic was a powerful temptation that she could feel rushing in her veins, coming to a head as she felt her blood boil. She had never before felt so connected to the desire to break, to lash out in a flurry of fire and storm and destroy all around her. It was as if everything she'd refused to feel was trying to break out again, more lethal by tenfold.   
  
 Words were not enough. So she turned, and left, and vanished.  
  
———  
  
"What do you mean she's _gone?"_ Frederick sputtered.  
  
"I-I mean, she's gone!" Phila replied, wishing she had her hat to twist in her hands. "Vanished! Does she do that often, disappear into thin air?"  
  
"Well, she—" Frederick ran a hand through his hair. "She has corners she sneaks off to, sometimes, but never vanishes like this! She's always somewhere."  
  
"She can't have gone far," Phila fidgeted with her fingers. "And where in the nine Hells is my idiot brother?"  
  
"At this point, he could be dead!" Frederick leaned in and whispered. "The king sent him on an errand to get Emmeryn's birthday present, but— gods! I never considered it a death trap for something like this!"  
  
" _Shit,_ Freddy," Phila hissed. "What are we going to do?"  
  
———  
  
Phobos, meanwhile, flew back to the castle at four in the morning on a pegasus with the wing equivalent of a limp, landed on the drawbridge, and fell onto his face. Then he stood, brushed the dust and bear fur off his trousers, and hefted his bag over his good shoulder.  
  
 "You wait here, girl," he told his pegasus, stroking her neck gently. "I'll be right back, and then we'll go home."  
  
Allegra nickered. Phobos gave her a final pat, and made his way to the front gates. He was quite a sight to the guards— limping, bruises forming under both eyes and across a probably-broken nose, lip split and scabbing. His armor, still that of a modest minstrel, had a gash across the breastplate that looked like immense claw marks, and the rest bore burns and splotches of some kind of acid. But he limped up anyway, his quarry proudly in his bag.  
  
 "I need to see the king," he said, straightening his back. "I've completed the task he set me on."  
  
The two guards exchange glances. "Phobos Gale, of Enderwick?" the one on the left asked. Phobos nodded.  
  
"Criminy," the one on the right muttered.  
  
"Well, ah," Left added. "There's a bit of a situation. You see—"  
  
"I'll take it from here," Frederick interrupted. The guards saluted and shut up. Frederick, Phila right behind him, looked Phobos up and down, then grabbed his good hand and dragged him inside.  
  
"Emmeryn has gone missing," Frederick explained hurriedly. "We've searched the castle and the grounds high and low."   
  
"Also, the king probably just tried to _kill_ you," Phila added, snatching Phobos' red wool cap off his head and twisting it anxiously in her hands. "That— that _prolapsed donkey derriere_ tried to off you so he could make Emmeryn marry some knight he picked! I tried to interfere and duel him for honor as your champion, but Emmeryn intervened, told us to stop— and she glared at her father, I swear it was like she was going to melt him with her eyes, and then stormed out, and then—"  
  
"Gone!" Frederick finished, throwing up his hands in helplessness. "She does this sometimes, disappears somewhere in the castle without warning, but we always find her!"  
  
Phobos felt something in his core drop to the center of the earth. "The king tried to kill me, Emmeryn is missing, and my twin just tried to duel a knight for me?"  
  
"Yes!" Phila and Frederick said in unison.  
  
Phobos put a hand to his forehead. "I need a drink," he said, his head spinning. "Or a nap. No, I need both. I need to drink until I black out. Then I can think about this."  
  
"We have to find her before the king's men do," Phila ignored him. "Come on, man! That's your betrothed at stake!"  
  
"You're right, you're right," Phobos nodded. "But Allegra's in no shape to fly, what do we do?"  
  
Both twins look to Frederick. It takes him a moment, but he realizes, and shakes his head.  
  
"It's treason!" he insisted. "You two never entered the order of knights, but I did! I can't just— just go against his majesty to search for his apostate daughter. I have a duty here!"  
  
"Yes, well," Phila scoffed. "We'll all be in deep _duty_ if the king's men track her down first. Can you sneak us out of the castle?"  
  
Frederick hesitated, then caved. " _Fine_. But let me at least write a note for the prince and princess first. They'll be very upset."  
  
———  
  
 _To their highnesses Chrom and Lissa Grace:_  
  
 _The contents of this note are secret and mustn't be shown to anyone! Emmeryn has disappeared, possibly run away, and I have gone with Phobos and his twin Phila to help search for her. However, your father's soldiers want to get to her first, and we cannot allow this to happen, because they would bring her harm. Please don't worry about us; we will be fine, and we promise to bring your sister back home, safe and sound._  
  
 _Ser Frederick James Quentstin, knight of his majesty King Lionel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF ACT 1.
> 
> and now is where we start with the 'video game/d&d campaign' portion of the story. freddy is the tank, phobos is the bard, phila is the ranger. they just need to pick up a cleric and a thief and they're all set


	11. A Sweet Deal

Chrom knew something was up the minute he saw the note from Frederick on one of the tables in the main nursery. He'd thought there was something weird going on when the banquet was cut short, but he was so tired, he hadn't had time to think about it before going to bed. And Emmeryn hadn't come in to tell them goodnight like she usually did, which was weird, and now everyone seemed on-edge.  
  
Lissa leaned over, watching him read the note. "What'sat?"  
  
"A note from Frederick," Chrom explained, letting her see. "Says Emm ran away yesterday, or something, and he and Phobos are going to go search for her. But it's a secret. Can't tell dad."  
  
"Can't tell dad?" Lissa repeated. "Why not? He'll be worried!"  
  
"I think that's exactly why," Chrom mused. "Emm and dad have never gotten along. Maybe she doesn't want him to find her."  
  
 "If she's running away to be with Phobos, that's not a good idea," Lissa said, matter-of-fact. "It never works out for the people in fairy tales and I don't think it'll work out in real life either. Too many dragons and mean knights."  
  
"No, dummy, Phobos is with Frederick," Chrom repeated. Lissa stuck her tongue out. "I've gotta ask Gaius about this. He'll know. He knows everything."  
  
 "Can I go with you to see him?" Lissa pleaded. "You never let me! Please, Chrom?"  
  
Chrom groaned. "Fine, fine," he ceded. "Just don't squeal when you see him. You'll give away our position."  
  
Lissa grinned in victory. "Hooray! I get to meet Chrom's boyfriend!"  
  
"He's _not_ my—" Chrom flushed. "Shush. Just come on. If everyone's busy searching for Emm, we can sneak down there before breakfast."  
  
It was still sort of a mystery how Chrom had managed to meet and befriend a street urchin— a thief, at that. Let it just be said that Chrom was very good at making friends, and sharing peppermint sticks went a long way with Gaius. Just to be sure, Chrom took a little bag of caramels from his nightstand and stuck them in the little bag on his belt.  
  
"What are those for?" Lissa asked, as they snuck down the back stairway luckily devoid of servants or guards.  
  
 "Bribes," Chrom muttered.  
  
"Can I have one?" Lissa asked.  
  
"No," Chrom replied.  
  
Lissa pouted, but quieted. Before too long, they crawled out through a cleft in the castle wall, and landed in a hedge just outside the gates. They ran across the dry moat, crossed another hedge, and disappeared into the nearby forest.  
  
Lissa liked playing in the forest, but only when the sun was all the way up, and when it wasn't so cold, and when her mittens weren't on the wrong hands. Her thick, furry coat was new and still too big, so she waddled behind Chrom until he took her hand and pulled her along. It was almost thrilling, being on a real adventure with real consequences if they got caught, but at the same time, it was scary. She'd really rather be eating breakfast by one of the many roaring fires the castle kept, instead of running through the woods in search of a friend of Chrom's.  
  
Chrom finally stopped in front of one of the trees, and knocked on the trunk. To Lissa's surprise, a voice called down, "Password?"  
  
"It's me. I have candy," Chrom replied. A blur shot from the trees so quickly Lissa stepped back in alarm, landing with a plop on the ground.  
  
The blur shook out his vibrant orange hair. "What kind? Not those candied prunes?"  
  
Chrom produced the bag of caramels. The other boy grinned in excitement, and stuck one in his mouth. "Not bad," he appraised, his mouth full. "Notes of cinnamon and nutmeg. Excellent choice for the winter season. Could use a bit less molasses, but then, couldn't everything?"  
  
"Gaius, this is serious," Chrom said, leaning closer.  
  
Gaius held up a hand, signaling Chrom to stop. "Easy, Blue. I have to savor this."  
  
Chrom groaned. Lissa gave him a skeptical look. " _This_ is your boyfriend?" The _'you need better taste'_ was implied.  
  
"He's _not_ my boyfriend!" Chrom protested.  
  
Gaius finished his caramel and stuck the rest in the pocket of his too-big coat for safekeeping. "Delicious. So!" He squatted, looking at Lissa critically. Lissa, undaunted by the boy twice her size staring at her, stared back, her back straight like Emmeryn had taught her. "Who's the squirt?"  
  
"My sister, Lissa," Chrom replied. "She made me take her. Listen, Gaius, we need help. It's serious. I thought you might know something."  
  
"I know lots of somethings," Gaius replied, straightening his back. "Just depends on the something how willing I am to tell you."  
  
"Do you know anything about the banquet that happened at the castle last night?" Chrom asked. "It was Emmeryn's birthday, but something went wrong and she disappeared. We think she ran away."  
  
"Mm," Gaius mused. "Sounds fishy. Why'd she run?"  
  
Chrom sighed in frustration. "We don't know! Frederick's letter didn't say. But I thought you might've heard something, or known something."  
  
 Gaius leaned in closer. "Tell you what," he said. "I didn't hear nothing about where your sister might've gone for certain. But a buddy of mine saw these three shifty guys headed east. Guys in armor, but lookin' like fugitives or traitors or something. Thought it might be your people."  
  
Chrom sighed. "We'll never catch up. Plus, dad's going to kill us if we run away, too."  
  
"If we ran away to look for Emm, then he wouldn't be able to catch us," Lissa brought up. "I wanna go."  
  
 "We can't!" Chrom protested. "He'll notice if I'm gone. I'm his _favorite_." He said the word _favorite_ with disgust, as if he'd bitten into a bone.  
  
"But I wanna go look for Emm!" Lissa stamped her foot on the cold ground. "Come on, Chrom! You read the letter! If dad's people find her before the good people do, she'll be in trouble!"  
  
"Emm is tough," Chrom retorted. "Tougher than those guys, and smarter too. She'll be okay on her own until Frederick and them find her."  
  
Lissa puffed out her cheeks. "Chrom!"  
  
"Alright, alright," Gaius said around another caramel. "Sunshine's got a point. But so does Blue, here. But worry not, blue-bloods, for I have a plan."  
  
"Will this cost me?" Chrom asked warily.  
  
"Cookies," Gaius replied. "If you can lift 'em to me hot and fresh, that's even better. Gingerbread, I think, it's that season. Much as you can. I'll sell 'em for a penny apiece and give you a cut."  
  
"That's alright, you keep it," Chrom agreed. "I'll get them to you as soon as the kitchen makes some."  
  
"Best keep your word, Blue," Gaius said, almost threateningly. But somehow that effect was lessened coming from the mouth of a freckly pickpocket not yet fourteen, with his mouth full of caramel. "So, here's what I wager. I'll pull a few strings, call in a few favors, and have some of my people keep tabs on your sister. Tall blonde, right? Pretty but magical, wouldn't hesitate to blast your behind if you cross her? Likes girls?"  
  
"That's her," Chrom nodded. "And what if she's in danger? Or dead?"  
  
"Then I'll let you know where they found the body," Gaius replied. "We sweet?"  
  
Lissa and Chrom exchanged glances. Lissa didn't like the idea of relying on a thief's contacts for information, but Chrom was right. King Lionel didn't bother keeping it to himself that Chrom was his favorite. Despite having recognized the injustice and holding Emmeryn in higher authority than his father, it wasn't like Chrom, who was eleven, could say anything about it. If Lissa ran away, or even Emmeryn if she did it without ceremony, it could be ages before the king himself noticed their absence. Were it not for Frederick and the guards, and her sense of obligation to protect her younger siblings, Emmeryn would've vanished long ago.  
  
"Alright, I'll agree to that," Chrom agreed, shaking Gaius's hand firmly. Gaius grinned, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other.  
  
"You've got a deal, Blue," he said. Chrom could only hope this worked out.


	12. Unknown Destinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time, sorry
> 
> got some rad ideas for next time though. gonna be fun :D

While Chrom and Lissa were making deals in sweets to pint-sized spymasters, Frederick was having a crisis.  
  
"We're traitors," he said to the twins for the fifth time that morning. "The king will have our heads when he finds out! He'll have our heads, and then he'll have a necromancer reanimate us so he can execute us again! And then he'll leave our corpses to rot behind a plaque in the dungeon, as an example to all others down there!"    
  
"Shut _up_ , Freddy," Phila groaned. "We'll be _fine_. You've got me."  
  
 "Right, right," Phobos replied. "You, who decided the best way of dealing with my absence at the banquet was to challenge a man to a duel."  
  
"Look, _you're_ the one marrying her, not me," Phila protested. "And I did you a favor!"  
  
"Right, right, you did," Phobos said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "You know Emmeryn hates violence. So what did you do? Why, enact _more_ violence! What a great idea!"  
  
"Gods forgive me," Frederick mumbled to himself. "I'm a filthy blood traitor. Why is it always me that gets roped into these schemes? What have I done wrong? Can't I just be a normal, boring, stick-in-the-mud? That sounds nice, sounds safe."  
  
Phobos sighed, and gazed at the sky. "I hope Allegra made it home alright," he murmured. "It can't be easy, flying on her bad wing."  
  
"How did that even happen, anyway?" Phila asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said you went to fetch some book for Emmeryn's birthday."  
  
"I did," Phobos replied. " _Augustine's Grimoire_ was in this necromancer's cave, guarded by a drake. And the necromancer himself kept summoning waves of zombie bears. Allegra got knocked out of the air when the drake tried to take wing in the cave, and that's when I thought to use my harp. Beasts love music."  
  
"And I suppose after you calmed the savage beast, you and the necromancer sat down for tea and he apologized for siccing his bears on you?" Phila rolled her eyes.  
  
"Yes, actually," Phobos explained. "His name's Lliaeth and he used to teach at a university in Rosanne, and he came here to study Ylissean burial customs. He and the drake, Thomasz, are actually very good friends. Thomasz is a devout pescetarian, so after all was said and done, it was a very pleasant afternoon."  
  
Phila stared. "You're shitting me."  
  
"I shit you not," Phobos replied, beaming. "Lliaeth let me take the Grimoire in exchange for some of my sheet music. He's trying to teach Thomasz to play piano, but it hasn't been going very well. They just don't make pianos big enough for big drake claws. I think the sheet music I gave him is alright, though. Lliaeth seemed to think so."  
  
Phobos said it like it was obvious. Phila squinted, trying to discern whether her twin was bullshitting or not. It had never, not even when they were children, been clear if Phobos was indiscriminately honest or just really good at making stuff up. It could very well be both.  
  
"I have the Grimoire," Phobos volunteered. "Do you want proof? It's right in my bag."  
  
"I'll pass, thanks," Phila grumbled. "I can never tell when you're lying or not. _Gods-damned bards_."  
  
Phobos grinned to himself. Phila was still twisting her red cap in her hands, glaring at the trees as they walked. This continued for quite some time— the fretting, the fidgeting. It made for a fairly tense walk, as one may imagine.  
  
A shadow swooped overhead. The small traveling party stood on guard as a pitch-black pegasus, all elegant long limbs and a coat that shone like polished marble, tiny silvery beads braided intricately into its mane, landed with a whump of its wings. It tossed its head as its rider dismounted.  
  
Pegasus and rider matched— both tall, dark, and incredibly deadly. Frederick scowled. Plegia was just what he needed.  
  
"Your majesty," he said politely. "I wasn't aware this was a foreign affair."  
  
"It is when your best friend is the missing party," she replied, examining her picture-perfect talons. "Does your little merry band have room for one more?"  
 Frederick grit his teeth. "I take it we don't have a choice."  
  
"Not at all," Aversa said gleefully. "So! Who do we have here? We have Frederick the Wary, I see, and of course dear Emmeryn's boyfriend…" She strolled past Frederick and Phobos in turn, and advanced on Phila. Phila straightened her back and fidgeted with the red cap in her hands.  
  
"Phila," she introduced herself. "Phobos' twin. Nice to meet you, your majesty."  
  
"Mm," Aversa hummed, not bothering to hide that she was looking down her nose from her considerable height. "Fraternal twins?"  
  
"No, no, we're identical," Phobos hurried. "I mean. There are ways, but you'd have to look really closely, and—"  
  
"It's easy to tell," Aversa cut him off. "Goodness, you really don't think so? People are less observant than I'd thought."  
  
With that, she turns on a heel and mounts her pegasus once more. "Now, where are we going? I'm afraid I don't know much about runaway princesses. In Plegia, they're much easier to track, usually by the many bodies left in their wake."  
  
"Remind me not to visit you," Phila muttered.  
  
"We don't know," Frederick admitted, ignoring Phila. "She left through the east exit from the castle grounds, but aside from that, there's no way to tell where she went without another lead. Phobos had the idea to visit the village nearby and ask around— she can't have gotten far, after all."  
  
Aversa hummed thoughtfully, putting a finger to her chin. She seemed to be honestly thinking, and honestly concerned for Emmeryn's well-being. Ylissean princesses don't tend to blend in among villagers easily, and even if she stayed hidden in the surrounding woods, it wasn't as if she had the skills to stay there for long.  
  
"Try to think like Emmeryn, Frederick," Aversa proposed. "If you were her, where would you go?"  
  
"A library," Frederick said immediately. "Somewhere with a corner that can be blocked off that she can hide in."  
  
"Somewhere to breathe, maybe," Phobos guessed. "I'd think outside. Maybe a garden?"  
  
"The last place you'd expect to see a princess," Phila mused. "So it couldn't be anywhere major or well-groomed."  
  
A few minutes passed with no talking, just thinking and walking.  
  
 It hit Frederick like a runaway cart. He stopped in his tracks and slammed a gauntleted fist into his hand. "By the gods, I think I know where she went!"


	13. Hedge Magic

Back in Castle Ylisse, King Lionel scrutinized the finely-made map on the table in his study with the eye of one looking for a detail the map could never show. Emmeryn's absence had been more than noted— what the king paid attention to were the whispers of how long it'd taken him to do anything about it. An outspoken apostate daughter, he could deal with. He was most concerned about how it would reflect on his reputation as king.  
  
"Hierophant," he called, looking at the old man in Ylissean green robes standing at the door. The Hierophant snapped to attention, gnarled hands clutching at his brass-headed walking stick. He was a jumpy old man, a veteran of service under King Omar and current Enchanter in the Mage's Tower, but had experience with the royal family from before Lionel was a boy and was one of the few people Lionel still trusted to advise him.  
  
"Yes, your majesty?" the Hierophant said, swallowing.  
  
King Lionel scowled from beneath his thick, gray eyebrows, tracing a line along the Northroad on the map. "Breathe no word of what is to be discussed here to anyone."  
  
 "Of course," the Hierophant bowed his head. "What troubles you, sire?"  
  
"Florence," said King Lionel. Immediately the air in the room chilled, as if she were watching, from wherever she was. Lionel stared at one of the corners formed by two bookshelves along the walls, shelves filled with books on war strategy and military history. He stared there for a long time.  
  
The Hierophant swallowed. "She is dead to us all, is she not?"  

"Emmeryn is so like her," Lionel remarked, talking more to the corner than to the Heirophant. "Perhaps in another world, that is a good thing. But the way things have unfolded, perhaps it is best they meet the same fate."  
  
The Heirophant paled. "But the princess doesn't know—"  
  
"She doesn't," Lionel interrupted. "But she no longer believes what I have said about Florence being dead. It is my fault; I should have staged her death, rather than having Florence simply… disappear, and telling the children she died."  
  
"She isn't…" the Heirophant paused, and looked around, gripping his walking stick. "Could she be listening to us now? _Witches_ , you know—"  
  
"Let her," the king decided. "The Florence I know is too cowardly and sly to confirm or deny what she knows. She would rather live out her days exiled to the dump she once called home. To me, she is no better than a traitor."  
  
The Heirophant swallowed again, as if trying to push back the taste of bile rising in his throat. It, in truth, disgusted him that the stoic but noble King Omar's own son had such vile practices. Exiling his wife for supposed infidelity, considering doing the same to his daughter for disobeying his orders— it was enough to make him think the young princess had a point.  
  
But he could not say this. "May I assume you do not intend to make the same mistake with the princess?"  
  
The glint in the King's blue eyes, hard as a steel blade, was sinister. "Leave Emmeryn, for now. There is a better way to ensure her cooperation."  
  
———  
  
About a week's travel time northeast of the capitol city, a few miles off the Northroad, nestled along a secondary road towards Ylisse's east coast that wound towards the Griffon Wing mountains through old-growth forests thick with magic, was a thriving little township called Cricket's Crossing. It was unremarkable in all respects, and most of the residents considered that a good thing. Its mayor was elderly but well-meaning, it had a stable economy based around trade of items and raw materials farmed from the surrounding forest, and overall, it did well on its own.  
  
It took Frederick's group about four days to reach it, due to sheer determination. They rode into town midmorning, Frederick and the twins— Aversa had left and promised to meet up with them again later, once she took care of something that Frederick hoped was not conspiring against them. But Aversa had ridden with them this far without complaint, only as much drive to find Emmeryn before the king's men as Frederick and the twins had, so Frederick begrudgingly admitted something resembling trust.  
  
Phila fidgeted with her ever-present red hat. "What makes you think she's here, Frederick?"  
  
"Truthfully," Frederick admitted. "Not very much. Just rumors."  
  
"I believe him," Phobos remarked, looking around. "Look how happy everyone is. Emmeryn has definitely been here."  
  
Phila flicked a pebble at his twin's head. "You lovestruck fool."  
  
"You haven't met her!" Phobos insisted. "Trust me, I'll introduce you, and you'll understand."  
  
"Sorry to say it now and burst your bubble, brother," Phila replied. "But I'd rather not be coerced into a threesome."  
  
"Why do you always have to go there?" Phobos muttered, face burning. "Every time."  
  
"Moving on," Frederick cut in, looking around as they walked down the central street of the little town. "Look to see if there's anyone we may be able to ask about Emmeryn's whereabouts. It looks like we've gotten here before the king's men."  
  
It's a nice little town, if a bit run-down by the years. Weeds grow between the cobblestones in the main street, lined with shops and merchant stands. Phobos has to be dragged away from a place selling flowers. Trees and plant life intermingle with the human civilization freely, as if the forest had granted the settlers its blessing to live and work there. In the center of the square was a huge tree that had shoved aside its cobblestone circle as it grew, its trunk covered in vines. Someone has hung a swing from one of the lower boughs, and the village children played on it without a care in the world when Frederick and the twins pass.   
  
They approached the church building— a big stone building, towering over the rest of the village. Phila and Frederick examined the notice board, while Phobos noticed the young boy Chrom's age in an apron too large for him dusting crumpled bits of paper off the steps to the church with a broom.  
  
"Hello there," he said to him, waving. The boy looked up. Phobos gave his best nonthreatening smile. "I was wondering if you might help me."  
  
"The Children of Naga help all those who seek it," the boy recited. "What is it you need?"  
  
"I'm looking for somebody," Phobos explained. "What's your name, child?"  
  
"Libra," the boy answered. "I thought you may be pilgrims, or… something similar. Who are you looking for?"  
  
"A young woman," Phobos said. "Fairly tall, blonde hair, probably wearing green. The sort who makes flowers grow when she smiles. Do the Children of Naga believe in angels? That's her."  
  
Libra tilted his head, removing one hand from his broom to brush a strand of his own blond hair out of his face. Then he realized something, and looked around, as if someone could be listening. "The eldest princess, Emmeryn, right?"  
  
Phobos raised an eyebrow. "Right."  
  
Libra beckoned for Phobos to lean in closer, and when he did, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "I heard the king's men were looking for her," she said. "And you're the group of her friends, trying to get to her before they do, right? The Sweets told me."  
  
"The Sweets?" Phobos repeated, puzzled.  
  
"Countries aren't the only people with networks," Libra replied. "I heard from Gaius near the capitol that she was missing and her siblings are looking. I've passed on what I know to him, and he told me they said you could be trusted."  
  
 "What do you know?" Phobos asked. "Please, any information helps."  
  
Libra gave Phobos an even stare. "She was here," he said. "She came in late two nights ago, and stopped some outlaws from hurting the people in the village. She asked the mayor about someone named Florence Taylor, who was supposed to have grown up here. Then she left yesterday morning."  
  
"Where did she go?" Phobos asked.  
  
"I don't know, sir," Libra shook his head. "But she left into the northern woods."  
  
———  
  
Frederick didn't hate magic— he didn't even hate witches, for how bad their reputation was. Magic was useful as both a weapon and a tool, and Frederick figured if a caster could control their abilities, just as one would a sword, more power to them.  
  
But the northern woods reeked of illegal magic. Hedge magic, nurtured by the wilderness and cultivated by the discordance of nature, growing wild and dangerous like vines on tree trunks and turning lesser-willed users into feral savages or cannibals. Magic had a way of toying with one's mind, turning otherwise sane people mad with the power the mana showed them, until it eventually consumed them whole. Forget demons— magic itself was why mages were so dangerous.  
  
Frederick gripped his spear as the group made their way through the forest. The information Phila had gotten from the boy in the village had been useful, definitely— especially in informing Frederick that Chrom was in business with a network of children across all countries, which was somewhat concerning. How long had that been happening, and how had Frederick not noticed?  
  
Phobos plucked a walking song as they traveled, which bounced off the trees that curved around the path and blotted out the sun with their branches. Frederick was too on-edge to enjoy it, but it was just comforting enough that he couldn't tell him to stop.  
  
"This needs lyrics," Phobos thought aloud. "Let's see…"  
  
"No singing," Frederick said tightly.  
  
Phobos made a face. "It's high-intensity lung training," he defended. "Pegasus Riders sing when they train and you know full well why."  
  
"You've told me," Frederick replied. "But you'll make me join, and I'm certain if I tried to sing, I'd draw the intention of a bear."  
  
"Oh, good idea!" Phobos teased. "Then we'll be able to settle once and for all whether you can beat a bear in a fistfight. Phila says you can't. How do you like them apples, Phila?"  
  
No response. Frederick and Phobos stopped, and stared at each other.  
  
 _Shit_.


End file.
